"Breathe, Harry. Calm your rage. Ronald has his amulet, he shall not die. I understand your worry, but you should have controlled yourself. I need you to act less like a Gryffindor, sometimes, honestly. Did setting him on fire do anything to make the situation better for us? The discovery that Voldemort made more than one horcrux is something that is absolutely worth investigating. Hades knows how many he has! I would have liked to get more answers out of him. But that all shall have to wait now. We need to deal with the Chamber first. We'll simply have to continue as before. Have you discovered where Slytherin was buried yet?"
"No," he said, thoroughly downtrodden by the lecture.
"Then you'd better hope the gods take pity on you. Quickly now, mix some of those ashes with your blood. You didn't kill Voldemort again, but surely destroying a piece of his soul may count for something. As a former horcrux yourself, it is the closest thing we have to his blood. It may just be enough to give you insight into Slytherin's tomb."
Harry dumped out one of the many bowls of ingredients scattered around the room and scooped a handful of ashes left over from the destroyed diary. With a wordless hex, he split open his wrist and mixed in some blood before downing it as quickly as possible. Harry had never gotten used to the taste of blood. As the sludgy mixture went down his throat, his mind was suddenly blinded with a brief vision. A lake cusped with tall trees, four ornate gravestones surrounding a flowering tree.
"Did you see anything?" His mama asked as he blinked away his disorientation.
"Yeah, south. There's a huge lake. I'll recognize it when I see it. I'll have to start making trips outside the grounds, after curfew."
"Be very careful, Harry. Travel directly from your bed to outside the castle, and be back before dawn. Your professors must not notice your absence. I understand your sense of urgency, but you must not risk suspicion. I am trying to be supportive of your friendships, but you must not use them as an excuse to act stupid."
Harry nodded, but her advice mostly went in one ear and out the other. Every day he failed to find Slytherin's tomb was a day he would spend in fear for Ron's safety.
...
Harry had never explored much of the Forbidden Forest. Tonight, he was followed by his entourage of Ron, Luna, a few necromized spiders, and a dozen wolfly shadows. Luna was exhausted, as it was nearing one in the morning and the poor girl was mostly asleep on her broom, and Ron was wide awake in sheer terror over the squad of acromantula they had just passed. They swept through the forest, the children flying just above the treeline while keeping their eyes peeled for the water he'd gleamed in his vision. Well him and Ron anyway. Luna's broom gave a sharp dive as she released a loud snore. She was deposited safely on Harry's broom as she carried on sleeping.
"Just a little farther," Harry sighed. "I think Luna has a test tomorrow, she should get some proper sleep." He wasn't about to admit it, but the week of barely sleeping himself was starting to creep up on Harry. An early night wasn't a bad idea to keep his energy and magic up.
"Well, we're bound to be near the edge of Hogwarts grounds anyway, it's got to be around here somewhere," Ron said encouragingly. Luna snored in agreement.
They rode in silence for a few more minutes before the trees began to thin. Coming into view was a wide lake, still water reflecting the moonlight. In the center rested a small island rising high above with sharp cliff edges lined in white rock. There was a singular tree blooming out from its center point. Harry and Ron exchanged hopeful looks and headed closer. As they neared, dots of white scattered across the grassy hilltop crept into focus, revealing gravestones carved of marble and polished stone. They landed, and Harry gently shook Luna until she woke and bounced with sudden energy at the view.
"Oh good, we've made it then!" she said, yawning. She'd not changed out of her pajamas for the trip, and she looked very out of place in her mustard yellow sleep set and muddy hiking boots.
"We must have," Ron said. "I don't recognize most of these names, but some of them have the Hogwarts crest on them."
"Lillianna Lacroix, 1701 to 1792." Luna read out loud off of a particularly ornate marble tombstone. "I've read about her, she was Headmistress. Oh, and this one as well. Barnacles Crouch - he was a Charms professor."
The group trudged up the small hill, Luna pointing out the names of famous Hogwarts alumni and staff as they passed by rows of stone. When they reached the center, the children were quieted by the beauty of the ethereal graveyard. The large tree was blooming with small white flowers; it filled the air with a sweet scent and was surrounded by a lazy group of honeybees and lightning bugs. The grass was tall and soft against their ankles and filled with clusters of wild plants, bushes, and flowers blooming and glowing under the pale moonlight. Surrounding the garden was a small iron-wrought fence inlaid with the Hogwarts crest. Four towering marble spires marked each corner nestled between lavender and roses.
"Now this is a spot for a nap," Luna remarked in a whisper, as though her voice would destroy the tranquility of the scene. "It's beautiful." They spent another minute surveying the area in a peaceful silence. Finally, Harry opened the gate without a sound, entering the sacred space and looking over the identical graves.
"How does this work?" Ron asked quietly. "Do you know how to summon his ghost?" The trio stood in front of the northern plot. Carved snakes curled around a bronze placard - Salazar Slytherin.
"Yeah, this should be easy. I can sense his bones, his spirit. I just need to call him from the beyond." Harry sighed, taking in a long look at the scenery. For once, he loathed to unleash his Dark magic on such a perfect place. But it squeezed out of his pores and into the earth, the shadows growing harsh as the wind stilled. A rose bush wilted. Harry squatted down to place his hands over Slytherin's grave, turning the lush garden gray beneath his hands. He focused on the marble casket beneath the surface, on the ancient bones inside. He began the incantation, his blood pouring from gaping wounds that marked up his hands, to his arms, to his chest. Slytherin was old, had been dead for a long time, and was unwilling to come forth. "Slytherin," he hissed, words snakelike and rumbling with power. "I summon you."
.....
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