Part One: The Master's Triumph
Malfoy Manor - Three Weeks After the Astronomy Tower
The grand hall of Malfoy Manor had become Voldemort's throne room. Where once the Malfoy family had hosted elegant soirées for pure-blood society, now Death Eaters gathered in fearful reverence before their Dark Lord. The atmosphere reeked of dark magic and barely suppressed terror.
Lord Voldemort sat upon an ornate chair that had been transfigured into something resembling a throne—high-backed, serpentine, radiating menace. His red eyes surveyed his followers with cold satisfaction. Beside him, Nagini coiled, her massive body a living reminder of the Dark Lord's power.
"My Lord," Severus Snape said, stepping forward from the assembled Death Eaters. His black robes were immaculate as always, his expression carefully neutral. "The Order of the Phoenix is preparing to move Harry Potter from his aunt's house in Surrey."
"When?" Voldemort's voice was soft, dangerous.
"Saturday next, at nightfall. They plan to move him before his seventeenth birthday, before he comes of age and loses his mother's protective charm." Snape's tone was measured, emotionless. "The Dursley family will be relocated by the Ministry."
"Excellent." Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into something approximating a smile. "And Dumbledore's condition?"
"Still very weak, my Lord. Gupta's healing kept him alive, but the damage from the Killing Curse combined with the cave's poison has left him severely weakened. He remains at Hogwarts under Madam Pomfrey's care, though he shows some signs of regaining his power."
"Eventually being the operative word," Voldemort said with satisfaction. "And Gupta himself?"
A ripple of tension went through the assembled Death Eaters at the name.
Snape's expression remained impassive, but something flickered in his dark eyes. "Also comatose, my Lord. As you planned. The magical expenditure of destroying the Crimson Serpent's army, combined with the space-splitting technique and the Sovereign Restoration healing, depleted him completely. The healers estimate he won't wake for months, possibly longer."
"Perfect." Voldemort stood, beginning to pace. "Do you all understand what this means? The two wizards who could truly threaten my plans are both helpless. Dumbledore, the so-called leader of the light, lies broken. And Anant Gupta, the Golden Hufflepuff who has been a thorn in my side for decades, destroyed himself to save his friend."
The Death Eaters murmured in appreciation, though Bellatrix's expression was complex—satisfaction mixed with something that might have been regret.
"My Lord," Yaxley spoke up, "what of Potter? He still has protection from his mother's sacrifice—"
"A protection that ends the moment he leaves his blood relatives' home permanently," Voldemort interrupted. "Which is why we will strike during the move itself. Wormtail!"
Peter Pettigrew scurried forward, his silver hand gleaming in the dim light. "Yes, my Lord?"
"You will ensure the Order's plans are monitored. Any deviation from what Severus has reported must be communicated immediately."
"Of course, my Lord!"
Voldemort turned to Lucius Malfoy, who stood stiffly, trying to maintain dignity despite his family's disgrace. "Lucius. Your wand."
Lucius paled. "My Lord?"
"Your wand," Voldemort repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "You have been of little use to me lately, Lucius. Your son failed his mission. Your home serves as my headquarters only because I permit it. The least you can do is provide me with a wand that will function against Potter."
"But my Lord, my wand—"
"NOW."
With trembling hands, Lucius withdrew his wand—hawthorn and dragon heartstring—and placed it in Voldemort's outstretched hand. The Dark Lord examined it critically.
"My own wand shares a core with Potter's," Voldemort explained to the assembled Death Eaters. "Phoenix feather, from the same bird. This... connection has proven problematic. But with Lucius's wand, I will have no such difficulty."
He pointed the borrowed wand at a house-elf cowering in the corner. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The green curse struck true, and the elf collapsed. The wand had performed adequately.
"It will suffice," Voldemort said dismissively, tucking it into his robes. "Now, Severus, tell me more about this move. How many will escort Potter?"
"Multiple decoys, my Lord," Snape reported. "They will use Polyjuice Potion to create seven Harry Potters. Each will travel by different means—broomstick, thestral, flying motorcycle—to different safe houses before converging on their true destination."
"And what is that destination?"
Snape hesitated just a moment. "The Burrow, I believe. Though they may have changed plans."
"It matters not. We will ambush them during transport when they're most vulnerable." Voldemort's red eyes gleamed. "I want the boy alive if possible, but if he resists, kill him. With Gupta unconscious, there's no one to resurrect him this time."
"My Lord," Bellatrix interjected, "what about Gupta's protective spells? We know he plants Kido defenses on his students. If Potter has—"
"Those spells require Gupta's active magical signature to maintain full power," Voldemort said dismissively. "With him in a coma, his magic is dormant. Any protections he left will be severely weakened, possibly non-functional. We need not fear the absent Hufflepuff."
But Snape's expression suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. He knew Anant better than any of them—knew how thorough his friend was, how carefully he planned. Even unconscious, Anant might still be dangerous.
"The meeting is concluded," Voldemort declared. "Prepare yourselves. In one week, we will capture or kill Harry Potter. And with Dumbledore and Gupta both helpless, the war is as good as won."
The Death Eaters departed, leaving only Snape behind. Voldemort studied him carefully.
"You seem troubled, Severus."
"Not troubled, my Lord. Merely... cautious. Anant Gupta has surprised us before."
"Gupta is in a coma. He poses no threat."
"I hope you're right, my Lord." But Snape's tone suggested doubt. "I've known him for decades. He plans for contingencies others wouldn't consider. If he anticipated being incapacitated—"
"Then we will deal with whatever pitiful defenses he managed to arrange." Voldemort's patience was wearing thin. "You worry too much about your old friend, Severus. Perhaps your loyalties are not as clear as you claim?"
"My loyalties are to you, my Lord," Snape said smoothly, bowing. "I merely counsel caution when dealing with wizards of Gupta's caliber."
"Duly noted. Now go. I have other matters to attend to."
Snape departed, leaving Voldemort alone with his snake. The Dark Lord stroked Nagini's scales thoughtfully.
"Soon, my pet," he whispered. "Soon Harry Potter will be dead, and nothing will stand between us and ultimate power. Not Dumbledore. Not the Order. And certainly not some unconscious Hufflepuff who destroyed himself through his own foolish heroism."
But even as he spoke, a small part of Voldemort—the part that remembered being Tom Riddle, the brilliant student who'd once studied alongside Anant Gupta's legend in disguise( this story is in another time)—wondered if he was underestimating the Golden Hufflepuff one final time.
Part Two : The Seven Potters
Privet Drive - The Last Days
Harry Potter stood in his bedroom at Number 4 Privet Drive, packing the last of his belongings. Seventeen years in this house, and he could fit everything that mattered into a single trunk and a small bag. Most of it was school supplies, a few changes of clothes, and photographs—his parents, Sirius, the Weasleys, his friends.
Around his wrist, he wore a thin golden band—a gift from Professor Gupta before his fifth year and a crystal pendant as a failsafe. Golden band had protected him countless times, warming with defensive magic whenever danger approached. But lately, it had felt... dimmer.
Because Professor Gupta is in a coma, Harry thought grimly. The magic is fading without him to maintain it.
A tapping at the window interrupted his thoughts. Hedwig sat on the sill, her amber eyes bright with intelligence. Harry opened the window to let her in.
"Hey girl," he murmured, stroking her white feathers. "Ready for another adventure? We're leaving soon. Leaving for good this time."
Hedwig hooted softly, nipping his finger affectionately.
The past three weeks had been strange. The Dursleys were terrified—not of Harry, but of the magical world that had invaded their carefully ordered lives. Uncle Vernon blustered and complained, but there was real fear beneath the bluster. Aunt Petunia was silent, her thin face pinched with anxiety. And Dudley...
Dudley had actually thanked Harry and also mention Mr.Gupta for saving him from the Dementors two years ago. It had been awkward and stilted, but genuine.
Won't miss this place, Harry thought, looking around his small bedroom. But it kept me safe. Mum's protection kept me alive.
A protection that was about to end.
The doorbell rang. Harry heard Uncle Vernon's angry muttering, then footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom door opened without a knock—typical Uncle Vernon—revealing a man Harry didn't recognize. Except...
"Kingsley?" Harry asked uncertainly.
The man smiled. "Good eye, Harry. Yes, it's me under a Disillusionment Charm and some other modifications. Can't be too careful. Are you packed?"
"Almost. When are we leaving?"
"Tonight. The Order is gathering now." Kingsley's expression grew serious. "Harry, you need to understand—this is going to be dangerous. Voldemort knows we're moving you. He's going to attack during the transfer."
"How does he know?"
"We're not sure. Could be a spy, could be legilimency on someone who overheard plans. Doesn't matter. What matters is that we're expecting a fight." Kingsley paused. "I won't lie to you—some of us might not survive tonight."
Harry's stomach clenched. "Then maybe I should just stay here—"
"Not an option. Your protection ends on your seventeenth birthday. If you're still here then, Voldemort can walk through the front door and kill you." Kingsley placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We've planned for this. Multiple decoys, varied routes, experienced escorts. We'll get you to safety."
"What about Professor Gupta's protective spells?" Harry asked hopefully. "He planted Bakudo barriers on me before. Will they—"
Kingsley's expression grew somber. "Harry, I need to be straight with you. Professor Gupta is still in a coma. The spells he planted are fading without his active magic to sustain them. They might help, but we can't count on them."
Harry touched the band on his wrist. It felt cool, almost inert. The professor who had protected him for years, who had saved Dumbledore at terrible cost, now lay helpless while Harry faced danger again.
"Finish packing," Kingsley said gently. "I'll be downstairs. We leave in twenty minutes."
The Plan
The kitchen of Number 4 Privet Drive was crowded with members of the Order of the Phoenix. Harry recognized most of them: Mad-Eye Moody with his magical eye whirring in its socket, Remus Lupin looking tired but determined, Tonks with her hair bright pink, Arthur and Bill Weasley, Fleur Delacour, Mundungus Fletcher looking uncomfortable, Hagrid towering over everyone, Fred and George Weasley grinning despite the tension, and Ron and Hermione, who both looked terrified but resolute.
The Dursleys huddled in the corner, Uncle Vernon's face purple with suppressed rage and fear.
"Right," Mad-Eye growled, his normal eye fixing on Harry while the magical one spun independently. "Listen carefully, Potter. Here's the plan: we're going to create seven Harry Potters."
"What?" Harry said.
"Polyjuice Potion." Mad-Eye produced a flask of thick, muddy liquid. "Six people will take it, using your hair. We'll create seven identical Harrys. Voldemort's expecting a decoy plan, but he won't know which Harry is real."
"No," Harry said immediately. "I'm not having people risk their lives pretending to be me—"
"Not your decision," Mad-Eye interrupted. "This is the plan. Deal with it."
"Who's taking the potion?" Harry asked reluctantly.
Six people stepped forward: Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Fleur, and Mundungus.
"You're all mental," Harry said, but his voice was thick with emotion.
"We know," Fred said cheerfully.
"That's why you like us," George added.
Hermione plucked several hairs from Harry's head—he barely felt it—and dropped them into the flask. Mad-Eye poured the potion into seven cups.
"Each pair will take a different route," Mad-Eye explained as the six volunteers downed their portions and began transforming into Harry. "Potter, you're with Hagrid on Sirius's old motorcycle. We're taking the longest route to throw off pursuit. The rest of you—broomsticks, thestrals, varied paths. All routes converge on safe houses, then we portkey to the final destination."
Harry watched with surreal fascination as his friends and allies transformed into copies of himself. Six pairs of green eyes behind six pairs of identical glasses looked back at him.
"This is bizarre," Ron said in Harry's voice.
"You're telling me," said the real Harry.
"Before we go," Lupin said quietly, "I need to tell you something, Harry. Professor Dumbledore left something for you at the Burrow. He left things for Ron and Hermione too. He asked me to deliver them after... after he went on his mission."
"What mission?" Harry asked sharply.
Lupin exchanged glances with Kingsley. "Dumbledore is searching for a way to wake Professor Gupta. He left Hogwarts a week ago, against all medical advice. He's following leads on ancient revival magic, artifacts that might accelerate healing. He left those items in my care before he went."
Harry's chest tightened. Dumbledore, still recovering from his own injuries, had left to save Professor Gupta. The professor who had saved Dumbledore.
They're both killing themselves trying to save each other, Harry thought.
"We need to move," Mad-Eye said. "Every second we wait increases the danger. Potter, with me and Hagrid. The rest of you, mount up. Remember—straight to your assigned safe house, no deviations. If you're pursued, lose them before going to ground. And if you're captured..."
He didn't finish, but everyone understood. Death Eaters didn't take prisoners kindly.
They filed outside. Harry climbed onto the motorcycle behind Hagrid, feeling the powerful engine vibrate beneath him. Around them, the other pairs mounted broomsticks or prepared to fly on invisible thestrals.
"Good luck," Harry called to the others.
"You too," Hermione's voice came from one of the Harry-duplicates. "Be safe."
"On my mark," Mad-Eye growled. "Three... two... one... GO!"
They launched into the sky.
Part Three: The Battle in the Sky
For the first few minutes, everything went according to plan. The seven groups split off in different directions, each taking their assigned route. Harry clung to Hagrid as the motorcycle climbed higher, the lights of suburban Surrey falling away below.
"How you doin' back there, Harry?" Hagrid called over the wind.
"Fine! How far to the safe house?"
"'Bout forty minutes if we're not followed!"
That's when the first spell struck them.
A jet of red light missed the motorcycle by inches. Harry twisted to look back and his heart sank—at least a dozen figures on broomsticks were pursuing them, dark cloaks billowing, Death Eaters in full force.
"We got company!" Harry shouted.
"I see 'em!" Hagrid wrenched the handlebars, sending the motorcycle into a steep dive. "Hold on!"
More spells flew past them. Harry drew his wand, trying to aim at the pursuing Death Eaters while clinging to the motorcycle with his other hand.
"STUPEFY!"
His spell went wide as the motorcycle lurched. The Death Eaters were gaining, spreading out to surround them.
Then Harry felt it—a surge of warmth from the band on his wrist while crystal pendant also emit silver aura which absorb by band which make harry eyes widen and understand this this pendant is healing band and act like a active battery. Not strong, not like when Professor Gupta was conscious, but present. Active.
"Professor Gupta's spell!" Harry shouted. "It's still working!"
As if in response to his words, golden light flickered around the motorcycle. One of the Death Eaters fired a Killing Curse—Harry saw the green light approaching with terrible clarity—and the golden light pulsed.
The curse struck the barrier and dispersed harmlessly.
"Blimey!" Hagrid exclaimed. "Gupta's protection is still active!"
But the shield was weak, flickering. Harry could feel it struggling to maintain itself without its creator's power to sustain it.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Multiple green curses this time, from different angles. The golden shield pulsed again, deflecting two of them. But the third got through, missing Hagrid by inches and obliterating the motorcycle's rearview mirror.
The shield is failing, Harry realized. It can't hold much longer.
"We need to lose them!" he shouted.
"Workin' on it!" Hagrid gunned the engine, and the motorcycle accelerated to terrifying speed. They wove between clouds, dove toward the ground then pulled up at the last second, twisted through narrow spaces between buildings.
But the Death Eaters kept pace. And then Harry saw something that made his blood freeze—a figure emerging from the darkness ahead, moving impossibly fast without a broomstick, black robes billowing like wings.
Voldemort.
"Hagrid, it's him! It's Voldemort!"
The Dark Lord raised his wand—not his own yew wand but something Harry didn't recognize. The spell he cast was nothing Harry had seen before—a massive serpent of purple fire that roared toward them with lethal intent.
The golden shield around them pulsed brighter, drawing on reserves from pendant which dim pendant aura more and act like a flicker. The fire-serpent struck the barrier and exploded, sending shockwaves that rocked the motorcycle.
But the shield held. Barely.
"Impossible!" Voldemort's voice carried across the distance, cold with fury. "Gupta's spells should be dormant!"
He fired again—multiple curses in rapid succession. Killing Curses, Fiendfyre, cutting hexes. Each one hammered against the weakening golden shield.
Harry felt heat through the barrier. Felt the magic straining. And he understood—Professor Gupta's Bakudo spell was designed with multiple layers. Even unconscious, the professor's magic was fighting to protect him.
But it was dying.
Then something miraculous happened. As Voldemort prepared to cast again, white light erupted from a different direction—a massive Patronus charm in the shape of a phoenix. It swooped between them and Voldemort, forcing the Dark Lord to dodge.
"Dumbledore?" Harry gasped.
But no—the figure on the broomstick behind them wasn't Dumbledore. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt, his wand glowing brilliantly.
"GO!" Kingsley roared. "I'll hold him off! Get Harry to safety!"
"But—" Hagrid began.
"NOW!"
Hagrid obeyed, wrenching the motorcycle into a steep dive. Behind them, Harry heard the sounds of battle—Kingsley and several other Order members engaging Voldemort and the Death Eaters.
They flew low over darkened countryside, weaving between trees. The golden shield around them had dimmed to almost nothing, flickering weakly.
"Almost there!" Hagrid shouted. "The safe house is just ahead!"
That's when Harry heard the screech. He looked back and saw one of the Death Eaters—Bellatrix, he thought—pursuing them on a broomstick. She raised her wand.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The curse flew true, aimed not at Harry but at Hagrid. Harry acted on instinct, throwing out his hand. The band on his wrist blazed with sudden heat, drawing the last vestiges of Professor Gupta's protection.
Golden light erupted, forming a shield between the curse and Hagrid. The Killing Curse struck the barrier and dissipated.
But the effort cost everything. The golden band on Harry's wrist cracked, thin lines spider-webbing across its surface and the pendant also become lifeless. The protection was gone.
Harry didn't have time to mourn. Bellatrix fired again—not at them but at a tree ahead. The tree exploded, sending debris flying. A large branch struck the motorcycle's engine, and suddenly they were falling, tumbling out of the sky in a controlled crash.
They hit the ground hard. Harry rolled, managing to avoid serious injury through sheer luck. Hagrid was already on his feet, wand out, facing the approaching Death Eaters.
But they were surrounded. A dozen wands pointed at them. Bellatrix
landed gracefully, her mad eyes gleaming.
"Well, well," she cackled. "Caught ourselves a Harry Potter. The Dark Lord will be so pleased."
She raised her wand. Harry closed his eyes, preparing for the end.
Then he heard a sound—soft hooting. He opened his eyes to see Hedwig swooping down from the sky, her white wings magnificent in the moonlight. She dove at Bellatrix, talons extended.
"Filthy bird!" Bellatrix shrieked, batting at Hedwig with her wand. "AVADA—"
Golden light exploded from Hedwig.
The small owl glowed brilliantly, and Harry felt magic he recognized—Kaido magic, healing magic, protective magic. Professor Gupta's magic.
He put a spell on Hedwig too, Harry realized in wonder. Even in his coma, his spells are still trying to protect me, just how many backup he made for everyone.
The golden light from Hedwig expanded into a dome, covering Harry and Hagrid. The Killing Curse Bellatrix fired struck the dome and fizzled harmlessly.
"What is this?!" Bellatrix screamed in frustration.
The dome pulsed once more, then sent out a wave of force that knocked all the Death Eaters backward. In that moment of confusion, three more Order members appeared—Tonks, Lupin, and Mad-Eye Moody.
"Run!" Moody bellowed. "The portkey's fifty yards north! Move!"
They ran. Death Eaters pursued, firing spells. Harry felt one curse graze his shoulder, felt another explode near his feet. But Hedwig flew above them, the golden light still glowing around her, deflecting the worst of the attacks.
Harry spotted the portkey—an old boot lying incongruously in the grass. "There!"
They dove for it. Harry's fingers closed around the boot, and he felt the familiar hook-behind-the-navel sensation of portkey travel.
The last thing he saw before they vanished was Hedwig landing on his shoulder, her white feathers stained with blood from a curse that had clipped her wing.
Professor Gupta, Harry thought as the world spun around him. Even unconscious, you're still saving us.
Part Three: The Burrow - Aftermath and Bequests
Safe House - The Tonks Residence
The portkey deposited Harry, Hagrid, and their rescuers in the living room of a small cottage. Harry stumbled, caught himself, and immediately looked for Hedwig. His owl sat on a nearby chair, breathing heavily, her white feathers matted with blood.
"Hedwig!" Harry rushed to her, gently examining her injured wing. "No, no, no..."
"Let me see," Tonks said, kneeling beside them. Her hair had turned a somber brown, reflecting her worry. She examined the wound carefully. "It's not too deep. A healing charm should—"
Golden light pulsed from Hedwig's body. Harry watched in amazement as the wound began to close on its own, the owl's feathers straightening, color returning to her eyes.
"Kaido magic," Lupin breathed. "Gupta's healing spell is still active in her."
"But how?" Mad-Eye growled, his magical eye fixed on the owl. "Gupta's been unconscious for weeks. His active spells should have failed by now."
"Not if he designed them to be self-sustaining," Lupin said thoughtfully. "Anant is—was—is the most skilled Kido practitioner alive as he is the sole creator of this magic branch. If he anticipated being incapacitated, he might have created spells that draw on residual magical signatures rather than active power."
Harry touched the cracked band on his wrist. "This protected us during the flight. It broke when it blocked the last curse, but it worked even though Professor Gupta is in a coma."
"That's extraordinary," Tonks said softly. "Even unconscious, he's still protecting his students."
"We need to move," Mad-Eye interrupted. "The others should be arriving at the Burrow within the hour. We'll regroup there, count our losses, and plan the next move."
"Losses?" Harry's stomach dropped. "Did someone—"
"We don't know yet," Lupin said gently. "The groups scattered. We'll know more when everyone checks in."
They used another portkey to travel to the Burrow. Harry emerged in the familiar yard of the Weasley home, relief flooding through him at the sight of the crooked, beloved house. But his relief turned to anxiety when he saw Mrs. Weasley standing in the doorway, her face pale with worry.
"Harry!" She rushed to embrace him. "Thank Merlin you're safe! Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine. Are Ron and Hermione—"
"Not back yet. Fred and George arrived ten minutes ago. Bill and Fleur are here. But the others..." Her voice caught.
Over the next hour, the groups trickled in. Ron and Hermione arrived with Tonks, both safe but shaken. Mundungus appeared with Arthur Weasley, looking guilty about something Harry didn't understand yet. Kingsley arrived alone, his face grim.
But Mad-Eye Moody didn't come back.
"He fell," Kingsley said heavily. "Voldemort hit him with a Killing Curse during the chase. He was dead before he hit the ground."
The room fell silent. Mad-Eye—paranoid, gruff, experienced Mad-Eye—was gone.
"And George..." Mrs. Weasley's voice broke. "George is hurt."
Harry followed her upstairs to find George lying in bed, a bandage wrapped around his head where his left ear should have been. Fred sat beside him, for once not joking.
"Hey, Harry," George said weakly. "What do you think? I look more dashing now, don't I?"
"George, I'm so sorry—"
"Not your fault, mate. Snape hit me with a Sectumsempra during the fight. Guess he was aiming for a Death Eater and missed." George's attempt at humor fell flat.
"Snape was there?" Harry's fists clenched. "Snape attacked you?"
"Was trying to protect Lupin, actually," Fred said quietly. "George got in the way. It was chaos, Harry. No one knew who was casting what."
But Harry barely heard. Snape. The man who had killed Dumbledore (or thought he had), who had broken Professor Gupta's failsafe spell, was now injuring Harry's friends.
"Harry," Hermione appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Weasley says Dumbledore left something for us. He wants to give it to us now."
They gathered in the living room—Harry, Ron, and Hermione—while Arthur Weasley retrieved a small wooden box from a secure cabinet.
"Professor Dumbledore left these in my care before he went on his... mission," Arthur explained. "He made me promise to give them to you on your seventeenth birthday, Harry, or if circumstances required you to go into hiding earlier."
He opened the box. Inside were three objects: a deluminator that looked like a cigarette lighter, a children's book, and a small golden ball.
"For Ronald Bilius Weasley," Arthur read from a note in Dumbledore's handwriting, "I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it."
Ron took the device reverently, clicking it. The lights in the room went out, then clicked back on.
"Brilliant," Ron breathed.
"For Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive."
Hermione accepted the book, opening it carefully. The pages were filled with strange symbols and illustrations.
"And for Harry James Potter," Arthur continued, his voice thick with emotion, "I leave the Golden Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill."
Harry took the Snitch, feeling its familiar weight. As his fingers closed around it, words appeared on its surface: I open at the close.
"What does that mean?" Ron asked.
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "But knowing Dumbledore, it's important."
"There's more," Arthur said. "Dumbledore also wanted to leave you the Sword of Gryffindor, Harry, but the Ministry claimed it wasn't his to give. They say it belongs to Hogwarts."
"Where is Dumbledore now?" Harry asked. "You said he was on a mission?"
Arthur and Lupin exchanged glances. Finally, Lupin spoke: "He's searching for a way to wake Professor Gupta. Anant's coma is magical in nature—his body induced it to protect itself from total depletion. Dumbledore believes there are artifacts or techniques that could accelerate the healing process. He's following leads across Europe and Asia."
"But he's still recovering himself," Harry protested. "He shouldn't be—"
"Try telling Albus Dumbledore he shouldn't do something," Lupin said with a slight smile. "Anant saved his life at terrible cost. Dumbledore won't rest until he returns the favor."
Mrs. Weasley announced that dinner was ready, but Harry found he had no appetite. He went upstairs to Ron's room, where he'd be staying, and sat on the bed holding Dumbledore's gifts.
Hedwig flew in through the window, landing beside him. Her wing was completely healed, the golden glow of Kaido magic still faintly visible in her feathers.
"Even in a coma, he's still protecting us," Harry murmured, stroking her feathers. "Professor Gupta must have spent years preparing these spells. He knew something might incapacitate him, so he made sure his protections would outlast his consciousness."
Ron and Hermione entered, closing the door behind them.
"Harry," Hermione said gently, "we need to talk about what happens next."
"I know," Harry said. "We need to find the Horcruxes. Dumbledore and Professor Gupta figured out that Voldemort split his soul into multiple pieces. We've destroyed two—the diary and the ring. But there are more."
"How many more?" Ron asked.
"At least four, maybe more." Harry explained what he'd learned from Dumbledore before the Astronomy Tower incident—Voldemort's obsession with the number seven, his pride in his magical heritage, the objects he would have chosen as Horcruxes.
"Slytherin's locket," Hermione said. "The one R.A.B. stole from the cave."
"Which we know is fake," Harry confirmed. "We need to find the real one."
"And there's something else," Hermione added. "Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem, maybe something of Gryffindor's—Voldemort would have collected founder's artifacts."
"And Nagini," Harry said quietly. "His snake. I think she might be a Horcrux too."
Ron looked sick. "So we need to find and destroy four objects and a massive magical snake, while Voldemort controls the Ministry and searches for us?"
"Five objects," Harry corrected. "Don't forget the piece inside Voldemort himself. That's seven parts total—six Horcruxes and the piece in his body."
"This is mental," Ron said. "How are we supposed to—"
"We'll figure it out," Hermione interrupted firmly. "Together. That's what Professor Gupta always said, wasn't it? We're stronger together than apart."
Harry nodded, thinking of the professor who'd taught him that lesson over and over. The man who'd protected him, trained him, saved Dumbledore, and now lay unconscious while Harry faced the greatest challenge of his life.
"We start by figuring out where R.A.B. hid the real locket," Harry said. "Then we destroy it. One Horcrux at a time."
Part Four: The Wedding
The next few weeks passed in a strange mix of preparation and forced normalcy. The Burrow became a fortress—Bill, as a curse-breaker, erected powerful protections around the property. Members of the Order took turns on guard duty. And throughout it all, the Weasleys prepared for Bill and Fleur's wedding.
"Seems mad to have a wedding in the middle of a war," Ron muttered one morning as he helped set up chairs in the garden.
"People need hope," Hermione replied. "They need to remember there's something worth fighting for."
Harry understood, but he found it hard to focus on celebration when Mad-Eye was dead, George was maimed, and Professor Gupta lay in a hospital bed at Hogwarts, trapped in magical sleep.
He'd tried to visit the professor once, using Floo powder to travel to Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey had let him into the hospital wing, where Anant Gupta lay in the bed beside Dumbledore's empty one (Dumbledore had left against medical advice to search for healing artifacts).
The professor looked almost peaceful, his face calm, his hands folded on his chest. But diagnostic spells showed the truth—his magical reserves were still critically low, his vitality slowly regenerating but nowhere near safe levels.
"He pushed himself too far," Pomfrey had said sadly. "Three days of constant battle, a spell that should have killed him, space-time manipulation, then the most powerful healing magic known—all while already exhausted. His body is doing everything it can to recover, but it's a slow process. Months, Harry. It'll take months before he's even close to waking."
Harry had placed his hand on the professor's, feeling the faint warmth of life. "Thank you," he'd whispered. "For everything. Your spells are still protecting us, even now. So please... please wake up. We need you."
There had been no response. Just the steady rise and fall of the professor's breathing.
Now, on the morning of the wedding, Harry stood in Ron's room adjusting his dress robes. The past weeks had been spent researching Horcruxes, arguing about where to search first, and trying to figure out who R.A.B. was.
They'd made progress on that last question. Hermione had found a reference in Sirius's old papers—Regulus Arcturus Black, Sirius's younger brother, who'd joined the Death Eaters then tried to betray Voldemort and died for it.
"If Regulus stole the locket from Voldemort's cave, where would he have hidden it?" Harry mused.
"Somewhere connected to his family," Hermione suggested. "Somewhere safe. Somewhere Voldemort wouldn't think to look."
"Grimmauld Place?" Ron said. "That was the Black family home."
"We should search it," Harry agreed. "After the wedding."
The wedding itself was beautiful. The garden was transformed with white and gold decorations. Guests arrived via portkey and Floo powder—witches and wizards from across Britain, all taking a few hours to celebrate love in defiance of the darkness spreading across their world.
Harry wore a disguise—a spell from Fleur that made him look like a distant Weasley cousin named Barny. He sat with Ron and Hermione (both disguised as well), watching as Bill and Fleur exchanged vows under an arch of roses.
"Do you, William Arthur Weasley, take Fleur Isabelle Delacour to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do."
"And do you, Fleur Isabelle Delacour, take William Arthur Weasley to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"I do."
"Then by the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
The kiss was met with thunderous applause. Music started—a wizarding band playing lively tunes. People danced, drank, laughed. For a few precious hours, the war seemed distant.
Harry found himself talking with Luna Lovegood, who was wearing bright yellow robes and a necklace of butterbeer corks.
"Hello, Harry," she said dreamily. "You look very different as Barny."
"How did you—"
"Your expression. You have very distinctive expressions." She smiled. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. How are you feeling?"
"Worried," Harry admitted. "Scared. Like I'm supposed to do something important but I don't know what."
"Professor Gupta used to say that the path reveals itself to those who keep walking," Luna said. "Even when it's dark, even when you're frightened, if you keep moving forward, you'll find your way."
"When did he say that?"
"During one of his lessons. He was teaching us about courage—not the absence of fear but action despite fear." Luna's usually vague expression sharpened. "He's still teaching us, you know. Even unconscious. His spells saved Hedwig. Saved you. He planned for the possibility that he might not be there, so he made sure his protections would endure. That's real teaching, isn't it? Making sure your students survive even when you can't be there to save them."
Harry felt his throat tighten. "I wish he was here. Awake. Fighting beside us."
"He is fighting," Luna said gently. "Just in a different way. His body is healing so he can return. That takes incredible strength." She patted his arm. "Don't lose hope, Harry. The Golden Hufflepuff isn't done protecting us yet."
The reception continued. Viktor Krum arrived, causing Ron to grumble slight jealousy as he know that Hermione have a crush on Professor Gupta which he understand but Vikton make him uncomfortable especially when he asked Hermione to dance. Elphias Doge shared stories about Dumbledore's youth. Xenophilius Lovegood (Luna's father) wore robes decorated with a strange symbol Harry didn't recognize.
Then everything changed.
A lynx patronus bounded into the garden—Kingsley Shacklebolt's patronus. Its voice was urgent, terrified: "The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
Chaos erupted. Death Eaters apparated into the garden, black robes billowing, wands firing curses. Guests screamed and scattered. Members of the Order formed defensive lines, fighting back.
Harry drew his wand, dropping the disguise spell. "Ron! Hermione! We need to go!"
"Where?" Ron shouted over the sounds of battle.
"Grimmauld Place! Now!"
Hermione grabbed both their hands. "Hold on!"
The world compressed, twisted, and Harry felt the crushing sensation of Side-Along Apparition. They materialized in the street outside Number 12, Grimmauld Place, stumbling onto the pavement.
"Everyone alright?" Hermione gasped.
"Yeah," Harry said. "But the others—"
"Can't help them if we're captured," Ron said grimly. "Inside, quick!"
They hurried to the door. Harry touched the wards, felt them recognize him as Sirius's heir, and the door swung open. They tumbled inside, slamming it behind them.
The house was dark, dusty, unchanged since they'd last been there. But it was safe. For now.
"The Ministry has fallen," Hermione said, her voice shaking. "Voldemort controls everything now."
"And we're on our own," Ron added. "No Order support. No Dumbledore. No Professor Gupta."
Harry looked at his two best friends, saw the fear in their eyes but also the determination. "Then we'd better start looking for that locket. Because it's up to us now."
Part Five: The Hunt Begins
Grimmauld Place - The Search
They spent three days searching Number 12, Grimmauld Place from top to bottom. The house fought them every step—cursed objects in cabinets, aggressive portraits, a ghoul in the attic. Mrs. Black's portrait screamed insults whenever they passed.
"There has to be something here," Hermione said for the hundredth time, flipping through a book of Black family records. "Regulus stole the locket from Voldemort. He wrote that note saying he was going to destroy it. He must have brought it here."
"Or he died trying to destroy it," Ron said darkly. "Maybe it's at the bottom of the lake where he died."
"No," Harry said, staring at a photograph of young Regulus. "He was clever. Slytherin clever. He wouldn't have taken the risk of stealing from Voldemort without having a plan."
"Then where—" Hermione began.
A house-elf appeared with a crack, making them all jump. But it wasn't Kreacher, the house-elf who'd belonged to Sirius. This elf was cleaner, better dressed, with a small golden band around one of his long fingers.
"Dobby!" Harry exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"Dobby is coming to see Harry Potter, sir!" The elf's tennis-ball eyes were bright with worry. "Dobby is hearing that Harry Potter is in hiding, and Dobby is wanting to help!"
"That's kind, but—" Harry paused, noticing the golden band. "Dobby, what's that on your finger?"
"Oh!" Dobby looked at the band proudly. "This is a gift from the great Anant Gupta, sir! The Golden Hufflepuff, most noble and kind wizard! When Dobby was working at Hogwarts, Professor Gupta gave Dobby this protection spell. He said house-elves deserve protection too, sir! That wizards should protect all good beings, not just wizards!"
Harry felt a lump in his throat. Of course Professor Gupta would have thought to protect the house-elves.
"Dobby," Hermione said carefully, "do you know where Kreacher is? He was Sirius Black's house-elf, and now he serves Harry."
"Dobby can call him!" The elf snapped his fingers.
Another crack, and a second house-elf appeared—ancient, white-haired, dressed in a filthy loincloth. Kreacher took one look at them and snarled: "Blood traitors and Mudbloods in Mistress's house! Kreacher does not want to serve such filth!"
"Kreacher," Harry said firmly, channeling the authority he'd learned from watching Professor Gupta handle difficult situations, "I am the rightful master of this house. I command you to answer my questions truthfully."
The house-elf twitched, compelled by the order. "What does the half-blood want?"
"Do you know anything about a locket? A golden locket with an 'S' on it? Master Regulus had it?"
At Regulus's name, Kreacher's demeanor changed. His ears drooped, his eyes welled with tears. "Master Regulus... kind Master Regulus..."
"Please," Harry said more gently. "Tell us about the locket. It's important."
And Kreacher told them.
He told them how Voldemort had borrowed him to test the defenses of the cave—how Kreacher had been forced to drink the terrible potion, how he'd nearly died. He told them how Regulus, horrified by what the Dark Lord had done to the house-elf he'd grown up with, had ordered Kreacher to take him back to the cave.
"Master Regulus was so brave," Kreacher sobbed. "He drank the potion himself. He told Kreacher to take the locket and destroy it. Then the Inferi came, pulled Master Regulus into the water. He told Kreacher to leave, to go home. And Kreacher obeyed. Kreacher always obeys his master."
"The locket," Hermione pressed. "What happened to it?"
"Kreacher tried to destroy it," the elf wept. "Tried everything. But it would not break. Then... then the thief came."
"What thief?"
"Mundungus Fletcher! He stole many things from this house! He stole Master Regulus's locket, sold it for gold! Kreacher tried to stop him, but Kreacher was too slow!"
Harry's fists clenched. "Mundungus. We need to find Mundungus Fletcher."
Part Six: The Ministry Infiltration
It took them two weeks to track down Mundungus Fletcher. They found him in Diagon Alley, illegally selling stolen goods in the back of the Leaky Cauldron.
"The locket?" Mundungus said nervously when they cornered him. "Yeah, I remember it. Had a big 'S' on it, right? Sold it to some Ministry hag who caught me selling without a license. She confiscated half my stock, made me give her the locket to avoid arrest."
"Who?" Harry demanded. "What was her name?"
"Dolores Umbridge."
The name made Harry's blood boil. Umbridge—the woman who'd tortured him in fifth year, who'd nearly used the Cruciatus Curse on him , who'd sent Dementors after him but Professor Gupta band saved him. Of course she had the locket.
"We need to get into the Ministry," Hermione said when they returned to Grimmauld Place. "It's the only way."
"The Ministry is controlled by Death Eaters now," Ron protested. "It's a death trap!"
"We don't have a choice," Harry said. "That locket is a Horcrux. We need it."
They spent the next week planning. Hermione researched Ministry procedures, guard rotations, secure areas. Ron practiced Shield Charms and Disillusionment spells. Harry worked on his Occlumency, knowing Voldemort could potentially track him through their connection.
The night before the infiltration, Harry checked his wrist where the golden band used to be. The band had cracked and fallen off after the Seven Potters battle, its magic depleted and Pendant also become lifeless. But he could still feel Professor Gupta's protection—fainter now, almost gone, but still present.
"I wish you were here," Harry murmured into the darkness. "You'd know what to do. You'd have a plan. You'd protect us."
No answer came. But somewhere far away, in Hogwarts hospital wing, Anant Gupta lay dreaming—and in his dreams, he still fought.
[To be continued ]