The Room of Requirement had transformed into a well-lit and cozy room. A sofa sat in front of the fireplace where Harry found Nymeria sitting, waiting for him.
She took one look at his face and straightened. "That bad, huh?"
"Worse." Harry dropped into the couch beside her and ran his hands through his hair. "He's already there, Nym. Not heading toward it, not just thinking about it. He's already everything we feared he'd become."
"Show me."
So he did. The conversation in the Restricted Section, Tom's casual dismissal of human life, his obsession with transcending death, the experiments he was clearly planning. Nymeria saw it all without pause, her expression growing progressively grimmer.
"The Master of Death angle," she said when she finished watching his point of view. "You think he's fixated on that?"
"Among other things." Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But yeah, it appeals to him. The idea of becoming something beyond death, beyond human limitation. He's not just interested in dark magic. He's building a complete philosophy that justifies anything he does."
"And the bit about Grindelwald too… The way he dismissed his entire ideology as crude and simplistic."
"Tom sees himself as operating on a completely different level. He always was an arrogant bastard."
Nymeria was quiet for a moment. "So the question we were struggling with before… about harming a child for crimes he hasn't committed… that's not the question anymore."
"No." Harry said firmly as he met her eyes. "He's an adult. He's already committed to this path. The things he was talking about tonight… those weren't theoretical musings. He's actively pursuing this stuff, Nym. He's experimenting, studying, planning. We're not dealing with a child who might be saved. We're dealing with Voldemort in the making."
"Then we have to stop him," she stated gravely. "We have to take him out."
"Yes," Harry agreed quietly. "Permanently. Before he can start the blood war. Before he can create his army of Death Eaters. And before he rips his soul into shreds."
They stared at each other in silence. They'd both known this might be necessary, but saying it out loud made it real. They were planning to kill someone. Not in battle, not in self-defense, but intentionally and with planning.
"I know what you're thinking," Nymeria said quietly. "That it makes us no better than him."
"The thought crossed my mind."
"But it's not the same." She said, her voice firm. "We're not doing this for power or glory or because we think we're superior beings. We're doing it to prevent decades of suffering and death. To save the lives of everyone he'll kill, everyone he'll torture, everyone he'll destroy. That's not the same as what he's planning."
Harry nodded slowly. She was right, intellectually. But the road to hell was paved with good intentions.
"We need a plan," he said, shaking his head. "A good one."
"No mistakes," she agreed. "First, no one can ever know we were involved. Not Dumbledore, not anyone. Our entire existence here depends on it."
"Agreed," Harry said, leaning forward. "Which leads us to the second condition: he can't just be found dead. A body leads to an investigation. He needs to disappear. Vanish completely. Let people speculate. Let them think he ran off to join Grindelwald, or went into seclusion to research some obscure magic. No body, no crime, no evidence. Just... gone."
"Which means we have to be careful about when and where." Nymeria tapped her fingers on the arm of the couch. "But we've got a bigger problem to think about as well."
"Horcruxes."
"Horcruxes," She agreed, meeting his eyes. "Harry, if he's already made even one, then killing him would be useless. He'll just come back, and we'd have exposed ourselves for nothing and made him even more paranoid and dangerous when he returns."
Harry nodded grimly. "That's the absolute priority. We cannot, cannot kill him until we're absolutely sure he hasn't split his soul. I was watching him, listening to every word. He spoke about the theory of soul manipulation with a lot of passion. It felt like something he was on the cusp of, something he was deeply researching, but not something he had already done. I don't think he's killed anyone yet, Nym. Not directly. At least, not that I know of. In the previous timeline, Myrtle's death was indirect, an accident from his perspective. You need to commit murder, intentionally and without remorse, to create a Horcrux. I don't think he's there yet. But 'think' isn't good enough."
Nymeria nodded, and as they continued planning, Harry wondered if this was how Tom felt when planning his own dark deeds. The cold calculation, the careful preparation, and the willingness to cross lines others wouldn't. Then he pushed the thought away. The similarity was surface-level only. Their motivations were fundamentally different.
At least, he hoped they were.
XXXXX
The second-floor girls' bathroom was exactly as Harry remembered it from second year—dingy, depressing, and mercifully empty. He'd waited until well after midnight, ensuring the corridors were clear.
"Open."
The sink shuddered and began to move. The porcelain basin lifted and rotated, revealing the large pipe entrance underneath. The tunnel descended into darkness, looking exactly as foreboding as it had years ago.
Harry lit his wand and stepped onto the lip of the pipe. He glanced back once at the empty bathroom before stepping forward and letting himself slide down into the darkness.
The slide was long and disorienting, twisting through what felt like miles of pipe. He kept his wand lit, watching damp stone blur past. Finally, the pipe leveled out and he tumbled onto wet stone, landing in a crouch.
The tunnel stretched ahead, dark and narrow. Small bones littered the floor—rats, probably, or maybe other small animals that had ventured down here and met the basilisk. Harry stepped carefully over them, his wand raised.
The tunnel opened into a larger passage, and then another. He navigated by memory, following the same route he'd taken in second year. Finally, he reached the massive circular door carved with serpents.
"Open," he commanded again.
The serpents writhed and separated, the door grinding open with a sound like grinding stone. Beyond lay the Chamber of Secrets proper—that vast space with its towering pillars and the immense statue of Salazar Slytherin at the far end.
Harry stepped inside and stopped, staring up at the statue. Even knowing what to expect, the scale of it was impressive. Slytherin's stone face gazed down with cold arrogance, his features sharp and aristocratic, and Harry strode forward with a resolute look on his face.
Back in the bathroom far above, a figure emerged from the shadows. Tom Riddle stood before the parted sinks, his face stoic, giving nothing away. His gleaming eyes stared down into the abyss.
XXXXX
Harry stood right at the edge of the massive pool under Slytherin's statue when a voice spoke from behind him.
"So the rumors were true after all."
Harry whirled around, his wand coming up instinctively. Tom Riddle stood twenty feet away, having emerged from the tunnel entrance without a sound. His expression was complex—fascination, fury, and something that might have been grudging respect warring on his features.
His dark eyes swept across the chamber with reverence. He looked like a king who had just discovered a long-lost part of his kingdom.
"Tom." Harry kept his voice steady. "What are you doing here?"
Tom's lips curved into that fake charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He ignored Harry's question and took a few steps forward, his gaze still drinking in the details of the chamber.
"Magnificent," he breathed. "Truly magnificent."
He then turned his full attention to Harry, his eyes filled with curiosity. "I might ask you the same question, Peverell. Though perhaps the more relevant question is—how did you find this place?"
"You won't believe me."
"Oh, won't I?" Tom asked with an enigmatic smile. "Try me."
"I followed the whispers," Harry said, taking Tom by surprise. "I've been hearing them for weeks. These soft sounds whenever I'm near this part of the castle. Calling me. Asking me to come here."
"Whispers," Tom repeated, his tone laced with skepticism, but Harry didn't miss the fury in his dark eyes. He began to walk slowly towards Harry, stalking him like a predator. "Interesting. And these whispers, did they also teach you how to open the entrance? Did they teach you the language of the serpent?"
Harry merely stared back at Tom, who smirked before turning to stare at the massive statue of the founder.
"It's a very rare gift, Parseltongue. A gift famously associated with the bloodline of Salazar Slytherin himself. A bloodline," he added, his voice dropping, "that I have spent years tracing back to my own family. My birthright."
He took another step forward, staring at him with a peculiar look on his face. "And here I find you… someone who can speak Parseltongue. How fascinating. I wasn't aware the Peverell line carried that particular gift as well."
"There's a lot you don't know about my family."
"Evidently." Tom's eyes glittered dangerously. "Though I wonder why you didn't mention this little discovery to me. We discussed Slytherin's legacy just yesterday. You must have known I'd be interested."
"I wanted to verify it first. Make sure it wasn't just a dead end."
"How considerate." Tom's tone made it clear he didn't believe a word. "So you just happened to find the legendary Chamber of Secrets that's been hidden for a thousand years. You just happened to have the ability to speak the language required to open it. And you just happened to come down here alone in the middle of the night without telling anyone. Surely you can see how that might seem suspicious."
"I could say the same about you." Harry kept his wand level. "How did you know I was here?"
"I followed you, obviously. I've been watching you, Peverell. You're not nearly as subtle as you think." Tom's smile widened.
"I wasn't trying to hide anything."
"No? Then why come down here in secret?" Tom circled slowly, and Harry turned with him, keeping the distance. "Unless you were planning to claim my ancestor's legacy for yourself. To steal what belongs to the heir of Slytherin."
"I'm not trying to steal anything."
"Aren't you?" Tom's voice rose slightly, his careful control slipping as his anger rose. "You found the Chamber before I did. You, who have no connection to Slytherin's line, no right to this place. Do you have any idea how insulting that is?"
Harry said nothing, just watched Tom carefully. The other boy's composure was cracking, his rage and frustration bleeding through.
"I've spent years researching my heritage," Tom continued, his voice taking on an edge. "Years studying my ancestor's work, his philosophy, his magic. I am the true heir of Salazar Slytherin. This Chamber is mine by right. And yet you—you just stumbled upon it like it was nothing. Like the greatest wizard in history's most carefully hidden secret was just an interesting puzzle for you to solve."
"Tom—"
"Don't." Tom's wand came up, pointing directly at Harry's chest. "Don't pretend this was innocent curiosity. And spare me that bullshit about whispers. You've been playing a game since we met. Acting impressed by my knowledge, asking careful questions, pretending to be intellectually curious but morally uncertain. It was all performance, wasn't it?"
Harry kept his expression neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't." Tom laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You know what I think, Peverell? I think you're a fraud. Someone who's been coasting on a famous family name without any real substance behind it. You found this place, yes, but you don't understand it. You don't appreciate what it represents. It's pathetic."
He gestured around the vast chamber. "This place. This legacy. It belongs to me. I am the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin. This chamber, the beast within it, the knowledge hidden here—it is all mine!"
"You're just a petulant heir throwing a tantrum because someone else found your inheritance first," Harry said with a hint of mockery in his voice.
Tom's face darkened. "Careful, Peverell."
"Why? You're already pointing your wand at me. What difference does honesty make at this point?"
"You could have been great," Tom said quietly, and there was genuine anger in his voice now. "I saw potential in you, I truly did. I thought perhaps you could be an equal. Someone who understood that greatness requires casting aside the petty morality of the common herd. Someone who might actually understand what I'm trying to accomplish. Someone with the intelligence and magical ability to be a worthy ally."
He scoffed, his eyes derisive. "But you can't, can you? Because you're weak. I saw it in your eyes. You have power but no will to use it. You have knowledge but you let moral cowardice hold you back. You're shackled by your conscience. You could have transcended your limitations, but you choose to remain ordinary. You have the blood of greatness but the heart of a common wizard. You, Peverell, are a disappointment."
"Our definitions of greatness are different, Tom," Harry said quietly.
"Yes. Mine is based on reality and actual achievement. Yours is based on meaningless ethical constraints that serve only to limit potential." Tom's grip on his wand tightened. "You don't deserve the Peverell name."
Harry remained silent, his expression stoic, and it seemed to further Tom's rage. The apathetic silence seemed to be the final straw, as Tom's face flushed with anger.
"To think," he hissed, his voice trembling with fury, "that you, of all people, found your way here first. That you walked in my ancestor's halls before I did. That you spoke the noble tongue to unlock my secrets. It's an insult. A transgression that I simply cannot, in good faith, allow to go unpunished."
The air was thick with tension, and the temperature in the chamber seemed to drop by several degrees.
Tom's wand cracked like a whip, the spell erupting from its tip with terrifying speed.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Harry's own wand was out in a flash. There was no incantation, just pure intent. A slab of rock the size of a tombstone ripped itself from the chamber floor and shot upwards, intercepting the Killing Curse with a deafening crack. The rock exploded into a thousand pieces of shrapnel.
Tom's eyes widened fractionally at the speed of Harry's defense, but he didn't hesitate. A jet of viscous black liquid shot from his wand, sizzling as it flew through the air. Harry didn't bother with a shield; he transfigured the incoming curse mid-flight, turning the black liquid into a flock of panicked, screeching bats that scattered into the shadows.
He followed up with a banishing charm that hit with the force of a battering ram. Tom deflected it, the spell careening off into the darkness. Then they were both moving, spells flying between them with lethal intent.
There was no room for error, no time for simple spells. Tom was a whirlwind of dark magic, his movements fluid and economical. Curses that looked like writhing purple worms shot from his wand, designed to burrow into flesh. He followed up with a wave of pure kinetic force that shattered the stone floor where Harry had been standing a second before.
Barely breaking a sweat, Harry proved to be his equal in speed and power, if not in malice. He didn't use dark magic. He didn't need to. He used the very fabric of the chamber as his weapon. With a sweep of his wand, he animated two of the massive serpent statues. Their stone heads detached from the columns and flew at Tom like battering rams, jaws agape.
Tom blasted one to rubble with a concussive curse and dodged the other, which crashed into the far wall with enough force to shake the entire cavern.
He retaliated by conjuring a torrent of roaring, shadowy flames, shaping it into the form of a giant viper that lunged at Harry.
Harry met the flaming viper with its opposite. He pointed his wand towards the channel that ran alongside the causeway, pulling up a colossal wave of water. He shaped it into a magnificent eagle, its wingspan stretching thirty feet, which crashed into the fire-snake with a deafening hiss of steam that filled the chamber with thick, blinding fog.
"Very good!" Tom's voice echoed through the Chamber. "But you can't hide forever!"
A section of pillar exploded above Harry's head. He dropped flat and sent a retaliatory spell back—the floor beneath Tom's feet suddenly turned to liquid. Tom levitated smoothly before he could sink, floating above the trap.
They exchanged more spells, each testing the other's defenses. Harry used transfiguration to turn falling debris into birds that dive-bombed Tom. Tom burned them from the air and sent the flames roaring toward Harry in a wave.
Harry sliced through the fire and twisted the severed flames into serpents of pure heat that struck from multiple angles. Tom dispersed them with a word of Parseltongue, his command causing them to simply cease existing.
The Chamber shook as their magic clashed. Pillars cracked, stones fell from the ceiling, and the stagnant water began to churn and boil.
Harry knew Tom well enough to know he was growing more and more enraged. He must have expected this to be a quick and brutal execution. He must have expected Harry to be, at best, a competent duelist.
He had not expected this—this raw, untamed power, this creative and unpredictable style of combat that countered his dark arts at every turn. The fact that someone he had already dismissed as his intellectual and moral inferior could not only challenge him so thoroughly but even overwhelm him was a wound to his pride deeper than any physical injury.
"You might have found this chamber before its rightful heir," Tom snarled, his voice echoing through the steam-filled cavern as he unleashed a volley of bone-shattering curses. "But you have no rights here! No power! No connection to this place! I have studied the lore! I know its history, its purpose, the true secrets this place holds!"
His maniacal eyes darted to the statue of Salazar Slytherin, and he raised his wand.
"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four! Release your beast!" he commanded in Parseltongue.
A deep, grinding rumble emanated from the statue. Tom's face was alight with vindictive glee, certain of his victory. This was his trump card, the ultimate expression of his birthright.
The great stone mouth of Salazar Slytherin slowly creaked open, revealing a dark, cavernous maw within.
Something massive moved inside. Both could hear the scrape of scales against stone, the whisper of something massive shifting inside the space.
"You see?" Tom's voice was triumphant. "The Chamber answers its true master! You have no power here, Peverell! This is what happens to those who—"
Something emerged from the statue's mouth. Something wrong.
The shape was correct—massive, serpentine, and the sheer size of the creature was the stuff of nightmares.
More of it appeared. Dull scales that should have been brilliant green. A head that lolled at an unnatural angle. Eyes that had once been capable of killing with a glance, now filmed over and sightless.
Tom's words died in his throat.
The basilisk—all sixty feet of it—slithered limply from the statue's mouth like a corpse falling from a tomb and crashed into the pool of water below with a sickening, final splash that sent waves across the chamber floor. The sound echoed through the vast space, followed by absolute silence.
The creature didn't move. Didn't raise its head. Didn't so much as twitch.
It was very, very dead.
Tom stared, his wand held loosely at his side. His expression was a frozen mask of absolute, uncomprehending shock. The triumphant smirk had vanished, replaced by a slack-jawed horror. His ace, his ultimate weapon, his symbol of power... was a rotting corpse.
Harry seized the opening.
"You're not in as much control as you'd like to believe," he said, his voice cutting through the silence.
He pressed his advantage. Tom was still staring at the dead basilisk, his mind clearly trying to process what had just happened. His certainty, his triumph, his entire understanding of this moment—all of it shattered in the space of seconds.
Harry's wand moved sharply. The stone floor beneath Tom erupted with a sound like a cannon blast.
A massive fist of rock punched upward, catching Tom directly under the jaw with bone-crushing force.
CRACK!
Tom's head snapped back violently. His feet left the ground and he flew backward, his wand spinning from his hand. A spray of blood flew from his mouth.
Before he could even begin to recover, more stone erupted around him. Thick, rocky chains whipped out from the floor, wrapping around his arms and legs. Transfigured columns bent and twisted, forming a cage of solid rock that slammed shut around him, pinning him upright.
Groaning with pain, Tom struggled, but the stone held. His face was a mask of blood and rage, his carefully maintained composure completely shattered. Harry walked forward slowly, his wand trained on the trapped wizard. With a casual flick, he summoned Tom's yew wand, catching it smoothly.
The fight was over. And it had taken less than five minutes.
Harry walked slowly forward, his footsteps the only sound in the vast chamber. He stopped in front of the trapped and broken figure of the future Dark Lord.
Tom Riddle. Voldemort. The wizard who would murder Harry's parents, who would torture countless victims, who would tear the wizarding world apart in his quest for power. All that potential destruction, contained in the young man trapped beneath him.
Tom's head was slumped forward, but he forced it up, glaring at Harry through a haze of pain and blood. His eyes were no longer filled with arrogant fury, but with absolute loathing.
Blood trickled from his mouth where he'd bitten his tongue, mixed with more from his nose. He tried to speak, to spit a final curse, but only a wet, gurgling sound came from his throat as blood filled his mouth. He was trapped, disarmed, and utterly defeated.
Even then, his gaze held a promise of vengeance, of torture, and of unimaginable retribution if he ever got free.
Harry met those hate-filled eyes with his own steady gaze. He raised his wand, leveling the tip between Tom's hateful eyes. There was no anger on his face. No triumph. No satisfaction.
He thought of his parents. Of Cedric. Of all the others who had died or would die. Of the child Tom had been and the monster he'd become.
"Legilimens," he whispered, and Tom's eyes widened before slamming shut as the most intense pain he'd ever felt flared up deep inside him. It felt like hours had passed as Harry stood there, tearing through his thoughts and memories, leaving everything bare. He probed and slammed against everything Tom tried to keep from him even in his weakened state. Even someone as gifted as him was nothing against Harry's mental assault.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Harry withdrew from Tom's mind, his face entirely devoid of emotion. He stared deep into Tom's unseeing eyes, and pressed the tip of his own wand against his forehead.
"I know this is something you fear with all your being," he said softly. "But this is where it ends."
Tom stared into those impassive green eyes, and for the first time in his young, arrogant life, he felt a flicker of something he had never truly understood before.
Fear.
Red light filled the chamber, and Tom's eyes went blank. Everything drained away, replaced by nothing, and his body went limp in its stone bindings as blood seeped out of the fissure in his skull, painting the ground underneath in crimson.
Harry stood there for a long moment, Tom's wand still pointed at his corpse. He waited for guilt, for horror, for the crushing weight of what he'd done.
Instead, he felt only a hollow numbness. It was over. The Dark Lord would never rise. Countless lives were saved. The war that had defined his entire existence would never happen.
He'd just killed a man in cold blood, and all he felt was tired.
Harry lifted the ash-white wand and stared at it for a moment. Looking down at the body once again, he banished the stone bindings. The body fell with a wet squelch, and Harry cast a silent Incendio, watching dispassionately as it was set aflame. Moments later, he threw the wand into it.
The body of Tom Riddle burned along with his wand, and Harry just stood there in front of Salazar's statue, staring at what he'd done to his sole surviving heir.
It was done.
-Break-
The sink ground back into place as Harry emerged from the pipe entrance. He'd disposed of the clothes he'd worn inside the chamber, having conjured something on his way out.
Nymeria was there, leaning against the bathroom wall. Her eyes found his immediately, and he knew that she knew.
"It's done," he said anyway. The words felt necessary, making it real.
"I know." She pushed off the wall and crossed to him. Her hand found his, fingers threading through his as she kissed him lovingly. "I felt it. And I saw... what you saw in his mind."
Harry nodded. The Legilimency assault had laid Tom's psyche bare—years of careful manipulation, experiments with darker and darker magic, and the budding plans for immortality. But critically, crucially, no murders yet. No torn soul. Tom Riddle had been on the precipice, but he hadn't jumped.
Until tonight, when he'd never get the chance.
"No Horcruxes," Harry sighed with a hint of triumph in his voice. "He was researching them obsessively, but he hadn't actually done it. Hadn't killed anyone yet. Everything he'd done was theoretical, preparing for the day."
"The day that he decided would be today," Nym said darkly. "When he decided to kill you in that moment."
"It's over, Nym." His grip tightened on her hand as he pulled her close into an embrace. "He can't come back."
"No. He can't."
They stood there for a moment, letting that sink in. The reality of it. The finality.
"Come on," Nym said quietly. "We need to move."
-Break-
They navigated Hogwarts like ghosts.
The castle slept around them, the patrols sparse as they slipped into the passage behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy, taking the long route through the walls. Their footsteps were silent on centuries-old stone as they made their way up.
"Killing the basilisk to ensure it was already dead when he summoned it was the perfect move to truly shatter him," Nym said as they squeezed through a particularly narrow section. "I saw his face. That shock."
"It was perfect timing." Harry's voice echoed in the confined space. "He was absolutely certain he'd win even after I'd driven him into a corner. Called the beast like it was his trump card, his birthright, his ultimate proof that the Chamber belonged to him."
"And then the rotting corpse fell out. Some birthright."
"Exactly." A satisfied smile touched Harry's lips. "The look on his face... I'll never forget it. Complete disbelief. His entire worldview shattered in that moment."
They emerged behind a tapestry on the fifth floor, checked that the corridor was empty, and kept moving. More passages, more shortcuts. Harry had memorized the passageways in his time, and he knew Hogwarts better than most of its professors. Even Dumbledore, perhaps.
"The way he tried to kill you the moment he had the opening," Nym said. "There was no hesitation at all. He was already unhinged."
"Fracturing his soul only amplified the madness that was already there," Harry replied calmly, pausing at an intersection and listening keenly. Nothing. "So much fury that I'd found the Chamber first, that I could speak Parseltongue. Such pride, saying that I'd stolen his inheritance. He would have done it, Nym. Everything we feared he'd become—he was already there. The person who died tonight was already the man who would have torn apart our world."
"I know." She said, her voice steady. "I saw inside his head too, remember? Through you. Those experiments he was planning. The things he wanted to do. Harry, there wasn't a shred of remorse in him. Not one hint of doubt about his path."
They found the seventh-floor corridor finally. Nym stepped away and paced in front of the giant stretch of wall three times, thinking of rest, safety, and privacy. The door materialized.
The Room of Requirement opened into exactly what Nym had asked for. A warm and intimate bedroom. The enchanted candles cast soft lighting around. A large bed with heavy blankets sat in the middle by the wall, and the ceiling showed the view of the stars. It was beautiful and peaceful and completely private.
The door sealed behind them as they walked in, and they made their way over to the bed.
Harry sat on the edge of the bed heavily, exhaustion finally catching up with him. Nym settled to his left, leaning against his body. She took his hand and clasped it in her lap.
"Do you regret it?" she asked.
"No," Harry said without any hesitation. "Earlier, I thought I would. Thought I'd feel guilty, or sick, or like I'd crossed some terrible line. But I don't. I just feel... tired. And relieved."
"Same." Nym leaned her head against his shoulder, smiling when he pulled her close. "We saved thousands of lives tonight, Harry. Prevented decades of war. Stopped a monster before he could truly become one."
"We killed someone who was planning to become a monster," Harry corrected quietly. "There's a difference."
"Is there? You saw his mind. He was already experimenting, already hurting people in smaller ways, already building toward something horrific. The only difference between the Tom Riddle who died tonight and the Voldemort we knew is time and opportunity."
Harry considered that. She was right, probably. The trajectory had been set. Tom's choices had already locked him onto that path—the casual cruelty, the obsession with power, and the complete lack of empathy. The murders would have come. The Horcruxes would have followed. The war was inevitable.
They'd just stopped it before it could start.
"No one can ever know," he said.
"No one will." Nym lifted her head to look at him. "The body's gone. His wand's gone. There's nothing connecting us to the Chamber or to him. Tomorrow, when people notice he's missing, there'll be questions. But no answers. Just speculation."
"Let them speculate." Harry met her eyes. "Let them wonder if he ran away to join Grindelwald, or went into hiding to research dark magic, or got himself killed doing something stupid and reckless. It doesn't matter. He's gone, and that's what counts."
The bond between them pulsed with shared conviction. No guilt. No regret. Just grim satisfaction at a necessary task completed.
Nym's hand found his face, turning him toward her. Her thumb traced his cheekbone.
"We did the right thing," she said softly.
"I know."
"And now it's over. We can move forward. Build the life now that we are here. The two of us, together."
Harry nodded, his green eyes locking onto Nym's, and the bond flared between them, responding to the raw emotions coursing through them.
Nym's eyes flashed with raw hunger and she didn't waste a second. Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his, soft and teasing at first, their tongues brushing gently. But the bond between them ignited like fucking wildfire, flaring hot and electric, yanking them closer.
The kiss intensified, deep, messy, and all teeth and tongue. Her hands fisted in his messy black hair as she poured every ounce of relief, every pent-up ache from the Chamber, into devouring his mouth.
"Fuck, Harry," she gasped against his lips, the bond humming in her veins, amplifying the scrape of his stubble on her chin. He groaned low in his throat as the heat of his breath mixed with hers. The sound vibrated straight to her core, making her clit throb with need.
Their hands were everywhere, greedy and familiar. Harry's fingers fumbled at the buttons of her shirt, silk giving way as he popped them open one by one until the fabric parted, exposing the lacy edge of her bra and the swell of her tits.
Nym yanked at his conjured clothes, the fabric bunching and tearing in her haste.
"Off," she demanded, her voice husky as she shoved it down his shoulders. Their shirts went first, followed by her skirt, pooling on the floor in a heap. He unhooked her bra and tore it away from her, exposing her lovely tits to his hungry gaze. She kicked off her knickers, the damp fabric sticking to her slick folds for a second before it hit the rug.
Naked now, skin flushed in the flickering candlelight, they tumbled onto the mattress. Harry's body covered hers, his hands roaming her body possessively. His palms slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts before cupping them fully. Her nipples pebbled hard against his touch, begging for his mouth, and he dipped his head to suck one into his mouth, his tongue swirling wet and hot.
Nym's back arched off the bed with a sharp moan, her fingers digging into his scalp. "Yes! God, just like that!"
She was soaked already, her pussy clenching on nothing, aching for him. Harry's free hand trailed lower, over the soft curve of her belly, dipping between her thighs to find her dripping slit. His fingers parted her folds, stroking through the slick heat, circling her swollen clit until she bucked against him.
"Fuck Nym, you're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice rough and his eyes dark as he watched her face twist in pleasure. He slid one finger inside her, then two, curling them just right to hit that spot that made her see stars. The bond intensified the pleasure, his own arousal spiking back at her, the hard length of his cock pressing against her thigh.
She reached over and wrapped a hand around his shaft, stroking him from root to tip, feeling him twitch and leak pre-cum over her knuckles. Thick, veined, so fucking hard it made her mouth water.
"Want you inside me, Harry. Now."
No more teasing; she needed him buried deep, stretching her, claiming her.
He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop, bringing them to his lips to suck her taste off them. The salty-sweet tang had him growling.
Positioning himself between her spread thighs, he notched the blunt head of his cock at her entrance, rubbing it through her folds until she whimpered. Then, slow as sin, he pushed in, inch by torturous inch, her tight walls parting around him, fluttering and gripping like she was made for this. For him.
Nym's legs hooked around his waist, the heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.
"Fuck! Oh, fuck, yes," she hissed as he bottomed out, his balls snug against her ass, filling her oh so completely. He stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed to hers as they panted.
Slowly, they began to move. He rolled his hips slowly at first, grinding deep inside her. His pubic bone rubbed her clit with every thrust, and Nym moaned filthily.
The bond amplified it all—the drag of his cock along her inner walls, the wet slap of skin on skin, the way her tits bounced with each pump.
Harry's hands worshipped her curves, tracing the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, squeezing her ass to angle her just right. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, nipping at the pulse point that jumped under his teeth.
"You feel incredible," he breathed, his voice wrecked. "So tight, so perfect around me."
Nym met every thrust, her hips angling up to take him deeper, her nails raking red trails down his back.
"Faster," she demanded, her voice breaking on a whine as the coil in her belly wound tighter. Harry's pace quickened, his thrusts turning sharper, deeper, the bed creaking under them. She scraped her nails harder down his back, leaving welts that made him hiss and fuck her like he meant it—raw, primal, the headboard thumping softly against the wall.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent—sweat and jasmine and sex—as he lost himself in the slick heat of her pussy clenching around him.
"Nym… shit, you're gonna make me—"
Her thighs quivered, clamped tight around him, and she felt it building like a storm.
"Harry! Come with me, please—"
One hand snaked between them, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing frantic circles as he pounded into her. Her world narrowed to the stretch and burn of his cock inside her, the slap of his balls against her ass, and the filthy wet sounds of their relentless fucking.
"Oh fuck!" Nym cried out as her pussy spasmed around his cock, milking him in rhythmic pulses. Juices gushed, soaking his thighs, her body arching tight as she came.
Harry planted his knees into the bed as he hammered away, fucking her through her orgasm, and Nym gasped. Her fingers pushed into his hair as she pulled him into a needy kiss, moaning into his mouth as she shivered under him.
Mere seconds later, Harry let out a deep and guttural groan of her name. His dick swelled, throbbing as he pumped her full of thick ropes of cum, flooding her until it leaked out around him. This was enough to trigger another climax, and her body trembled as she came violently around him, moaning out loud.
Harry collapsed beside her, rolling to pull her flush against his chest, his softening cock slipping free with a wet schlick that made them both shudder. Cum trickled down her thigh, warm and sticky, but neither moved to clean it. She draped over him, one leg hooked over his hip, their skin sticking where sweat pooled.
Their breathing was ragged at first, but it gradually slowed to heavy pants as they lay tangled in the sheets. The air was thick with the musk of sex. Nym's fingers traced lazy swirls on his chest, dipping into the dips of muscle, feeling his heartbeat under her palm. Harry's hand combed through her hair as the strands shifted from red to pink to black in the afterglow, stroking soothingly.
"We're going to be okay," she murmured, her lips brushing his skin, tasting salt.
"Yeah." He tilted her chin up for a soft kiss, then pressed another to the crown of her head, holding her closer. "We are."
TBC.
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