Harry’s heart slammed against his ribcage. He stood with his back against pressed firmly against the tree, his legs shaking. His head absolutely pounded with pain. From perhaps ten feet away, Voldemort’s rage was a cyclone of fury.
A moment passed, and then another, and nothing horrific happened. Harry’s adrenaline-soaked mind jumped to the obvious conclusion—Voldemort was here, nearby, but he did not yet know exactly where Harry was… He was behind him, on the other side of the tree which he now leaned against…
Moving a silently as he could, Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his pocket. His fingers trembled violently as he draped it over himself. He had the twinge of something close to relief as he did—the silky fabric was smooth, familiar, and carried with a slight sense of security.
A hopeful feeling that was quickly dashed. Harry recalled that day in Azkaban yet again—Voldemort had been able to see him through the Cloak then, so surely he would be able to now.
A slight footstep sounded, though Harry could not yet tell if it was coming towards him or not. Harry held his breath.
“Harry… Do you truly still think you can hide from me?”
Voldemort’s voice was cool and calm, too calm. It was easily the most frightening tone Harry had ever heard him use.
“We are not playing hide and seek…”
The memory stormed Harry’s mind—those were the exact words Voldemort had called to him as he hid behind a gravestone, fourteen years old and certain he was about to die.
But Harry had not simply given up then, and he would not do so now either.
Harry forced himself into a state of semi-calm. He was not that tragic boy who could not control himself any longer; he could keep Voldemort’s emotions and presence from harming him if he focused. He recalled the night he buried Dobby, digging into the earth with an old shovel, his hands calloused and hurting. The pain in his scar ebbed away.
He could figure a way out of this. The reception was not so far—Harry could see the lights through the trees, glimmering in the distance. The dulled sounds of a party were like an oasis, and if he could just make it there—to the crowds of people, to the many watching eyes and floating cameras—then he would be safe.
Temporarily, at least. But Harry would so anything to get away from Voldemort when his rage was so paramount. He was lethal right now, more deadly toxicity laced his aura than Harry had ever felt. He was honestly worried for his life. That anger, and that power, was a combination that would undoubtedly have devastating results.
Voldemort did not have restraint.
More footsteps, and Harry could tell now—he was not moving towards him. Voldemort was, somehow, blessedly, walking in the opposite direction; Harry could sense his aura drifting slightly further away. Harry felt a new spark of hope. Voldemort knew he was near, but did not yet know exactly where he was.
But if Voldemort could see him through the Cloak… then he couldn’t move. The moment he stepped from behind his shield of tree, Voldemort would see him, and he would be done.
But how, how was Voldemort able to see him through the Cloak? It was infallible, it was a hallow… No one, not even Dumbledore had been able to see him while he was under it…
The answer came to him in a lightning moment of clarity. His eyes.
Somehow, with whatever dark magic Voldemort had used to restore his sight, Voldemort could always find Harry’s eyes. When he had looked at him through the Cloak outside of Azkaban, he had stared directly into Harry’s eyes, the ones which were now exactly like his.
Did that mean he could see through his eyes whenever he wanted, then? The way he, Harry, sometimes saw through Voldemort’s? Or was it a residual magic that he could sense, because it was his own spell that allowed Harry to see?
Harry wasn’t sure, and he knew it was all a wild conjecture anyway. But it was the only reason he could come up with. The resulting realization was not a welcome one.
If Voldemort could see through his eyes, or see him because of them in any way, then he could not use them.
“Come out, Harry… Come out and play…”
He was still moving, slowly, but no longer in the wrong direction. Voldemort was circling. Soon, he would come closer to where Harry was, and then it would be over.
He could not stay still. He needed to move, and it was now or never.
Swallowing hard, Harry closed his eyes… and quietly stepped from behind the tree.
kianamaiart
prguitarman
romaincrisis
baratheonpilled
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
yousharknotpass
