Harry Potter and the Battle of the Scourge
I wrote Harry Potter and the Battle of the Scourge shortly after J.K. Rowling released The Half-Blood Prince, when the wait for the final book felt unbearable. This story became my way of imagining what might come next — a blend of friendship, romance, and the kind of magic and danger only Harry could face. Now, years later, I’m revisiting and refining each chapter, giving it a fresh brush-up for today’s readers. Writing this book all those years ago inspired me to create the Boundless Magick series — the moment I realized how much I loved building worlds of my own. Follow along as I repost the story chapter by chapter, and check back daily for new updates!
CHAPTER 1
LITTLE WHINGING’S MYSTERIOUS STRANGER
Late July had settled in over Little Whinging. The neighborhood lay quiet and still; not a curtain stirred, not a car passed on Privet Drive. A low fog crept between the streetlamps, their pale light glinting faintly off the damp pavement.
Upstairs at Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry Potter lay wide awake. The quiet wasn’t what had kept him up—Remus Lupin’s letter had. Earlier that evening, an owl had delivered an alert: members of the Order of the Phoenix would arrive by midnight to take Harry into hiding.
In a few short hours, Harry would turn seventeen—an adult in the wizarding world. At midnight, the protection Dumbledore had placed on the Dursleys’ house would disappear, and so would Harry’s safety.
Remus had been blunt in his letter: Do not leave the house until the Order arrives.
Still, Harry felt a flicker of relief spark through him. He would soon be free of the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia’s glares, Uncle Vernon’s yelling, Dudley’s whining—he wouldn’t miss any of it. When he’d told his “family” he was leaving, they’d muttered something along the lines of “good riddance,” followed by Uncle Vernon’s grunt of, “Try not to wreck the place on your way out. And tell your freaky little friends to keep it down!”
Harry had just smiled. Nothing they said mattered to him anymore. He was counting the hours until he would see Ron and Hermione again. It had been weeks since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and the Burrow felt like a different world from this miserable little town.
Harry’s mind wandered to Hogwarts—and Dumbledore. The ache in his chest returned like it always did when he thought about that night. He could still see the green flash, hear Snape’s voice shouting the killing curse, feel the helpless rage of being frozen under the invisibility cloak, unable to so much as blink as Dumbledore, the greatest wizard Harry had ever known, plummeted to his death. Snape—trusted by everyone—was the one who’d killed him.
Harry clenched his fists at the thought of Voldemort, Snape, and the Death Eaters continuing to spread their terror throughout the magical and Muggle worlds. He gritted his teeth, more determined than ever to destroy every Horcrux, bring Voldemort and the Death Eaters down, and make sure Snape paid for what he’d done.
The sharp ring of Harry’s alarm clock broke his thoughts. Ten o’clock.
He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, wishing—just for a moment—that he could go back to being eleven again, to that first golden glimpse of Hogwarts when everything shimmered with promise and Dumbledore was still alive.
Then Harry heard it. Footsteps. Heavy ones, echoing faintly outside. A second later, sharp pops—like fireworks swallowed by fog. He reached under his pillow and grabbed his wand. The Ministry couldn’t fault him for using magic freely mere hours before his seventeenth birthday, especially if his life were in danger. The thought steadied his nerves—barely.
Moving to the window, he slipped behind the curtains and whispered, “Apiro.” The glass lifted with a creak. Cool night air swept across his face as a tall figure with long dark hair cut through the mist and ran down the street. As she passed beneath the lamplights, Harry realized that the mist wasn’t touching her—it bent away, repelled by a faint, shimmering barrier. She held her wand high, sending bursts of violet light into the quiet night. Each flash cracked the air, and in that instant, houses along the street vanished like they’d never been there, as if she were erasing them from existence.
“She’s a witch,” Harry gasped.
Adrenaline kicked in. He threw on his jeans, coat, and trainers, grabbed his invisibility cloak, and bolted for the stairs. He pressed his eye to the front-door peephole to monitor her progress—only to meet a bright green eye staring right back at him.
He jumped, stumbled, and sprinted for the kitchen. If she was out front, he would circle around and catch her off guard to see what was going on.
At the back door, he unlatched the locks, lifted the chain, and tightened his grip on his wand. The silence pressed against the door like a weight. He took one breath and yanked it open.
There she was—the girl from the street.
Up close, she looked only a little older than he was—tall, lean, and completely untouched by the chill in the air. Her dark hair fell in hypnotizing waves around her face, framing sharp green eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light. A gold heart-shaped locket hung from a chain at her throat.
She looked terrified. For a second, they just stared at each other.
Then her knees buckled.
Harry barely caught her before she hit the floor.
CHAPTER 2
The Chronicles of Regulus Black
The air crackled with anxious energy with the collapse of the mysterious stranger outside Number Four, Privet Drive.
Harry had barely managed to drag her upstairs before Aunt Petunia’s sharp ears caught the commotion. She banged on the wall and shouted for Harry to quiet down. If she or Uncle Vernon got curious enough to investigate and saw the stranger—a witch—they would throw Harry out on his ear before the Order could arrive, leaving him completely exposed to Voldemort.
He sealed his bedroom with a Muffliato Charm to block any sound from escaping his room, and then set a Sticking Spell on the door to keep anyone from barging in. Then he paced the creaky floorboards while glancing occasionally at the beautiful unconscious stranger, his sneakers squeaking with every turn.
The girl’s dark hair was tangled across her face. One of her arms rested over her chest, while the other was flung above her head, her fingers woven into her curls. Her skirt was twisted at the knees, and the sight of her filled Harry with equal parts of curiosity and unease.
Who is she—and why would she be using magic so openly in Little Whinging? The Order couldn’t have sent her. Lupin’s owl had said a full guard, not a lone witch, would collect him before midnight. The clock struck eleven.
Has she been separated from the others? Has something happened to them?
Before he could puzzle further, the girl stirred. She moaned softly, shifting against the rumpled sheets. Harry froze as she blinked her eyes open. Bright green—startlingly familiar.
He stepped closer. “H-hello? Can you hear me? You passed out.”
She nodded faintly, then scanned the room with sharp, assessing eyes—the faded green walls, the cluttered desk piled with open spellbooks, parchment, and ink-stained quills, the owl cage where Hedwig hooted softly.
“I’m Harry,” he said quickly. “Harry Potter. Who are you?”
Her voice came weakly. “Hannah. Hannah…Morley.”
She rose slowly to a stand, taking a moment to steady herself, her eyes never leaving his. “I’ve come for you, Harry Potter.”
Harry’s stomach dropped. “Me? Why?”
“You’re the one who survived Voldemort’s killing curse,” she said quietly, pointing to his scar. “You have”— her voice dropped to a whisper—“the mark.”
Harry rubbed his forehead, uneasy. Few people dared to speak Voldemort’s name aloud, and those who dared earned his respect, if not his trust. “Right. I suppose I did.” He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to sound casual. “What do you want from me?”
She stepped closer, hand over her heart. “I’m here to help you—finish him off. Harry, I know about the Horcruxes.”
His pulse spiked. Other than Dumbledore, no one outside of Ron and Hermione had spoken to him about Voldemort’s means to tie himself to the physical world. How could Hannah have known about it?
He thought back to everything Dumbledore had taught him—the diary, the ring, the locket that had turned out to be fake. Seven Horcruxes in total. Two destroyed. One missing. The rest, uncertain.
Before he could speak, Hannah touched his shoulder. “Dumbledore taught you much of what you need to know, but there’s so much more to learn.”
Harry stepped back sharply. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
She hesitated, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you. I’m a Legilimens—a gifted one, actually. I can hear everything you’re thinking.”
Harry’s blood started to boil. Legilimency reminded him of Snape—Snape prying into his thoughts, humiliating him. Rage burned in his chest.
Hannah studied him. “Ah, Professor Snape,” she said. “You worked with him last year. A talented wizard. Brilliant in Occlumency and Potions.”
Harry glared at her, furious. “He killed Dumbledore. He’s evil.”
“Don’t be so certain,” Hannah replied evenly. “Things aren’t always what they seem.”
Harry’s wand was out before he realized it. “What’s that supposed to mean? I saw him do it! He killed my mentor, a man I trusted and loved.”
“Yes,” she said, “but Dumbledore was prepared to die. The curse from Marvolo’s ring had already doomed him. He knew another would finish him. He also knew his death would protect you.”
Her voice softened. “Why do you think he spent so much time teaching you last year? He knew his time on this earth was limited.”
Harry faltered, lowering his wand slightly. The logic of her words struck too close to what he’d always suspected—but refused to accept.
“Who are you, really?” he demanded.
She hesitated. “Harry, I lied. My name isn’t Hannah Morley.” Her eyes met his. “It is Hannah Black. I’m Regulus Black’s daughter.”
Harry nearly dropped his wand. “What?”
“My father was Regulus Black,” she continued steadily, “Sirius Black’s brother.”
Harry’s fury returned. “You’re a Death Eater!” He raised his wand, shouting, “Get out before I—”
A blast of invisible force sent him sprawling across the floor. His wand flew from his hand.
“HOW DARE YOU CALL ME A DEATH EATER!” Hannah’s voice rang through the room. She snatched his wand from the floor with a wordless spell—wandless magic—and leveled hers at his chest.
Harry froze, stunned. Wandless spells were rare. Powerful.
She steadied her breathing. “Listen to me. My father joined Voldemort when he was young—yes—but he regretted it. He fell in love with my mother, a half-blood witch named Delaney Maslin. When she became pregnant with me, she fled, afraid the Blacks would destroy us both. Regulus eventually found us, tried to protect us, but by then it was too late. Voldemort learned of his betrayal. My father staged his death with a friend’s help and hid me away.”
Harry stared, silent.
“When I turned ten, Regulus sought Dumbledore’s help. Dumbledore agreed to train me in secret and gave me a new identity—Hannah Morley—to hide me from Voldemort. He erased every trace of who I was.”
Her voice trembled. “My father devoted the rest of his life to studying Dark Magic, trying to understand how Voldemort had made himself immortal. He discovered the truth about the Horcruxes long before Dumbledore did. He found the real Slytherin locket and replaced it with the fake that you and Dumbledore found.”
Harry’s breath caught. “The one with the note—R.A.B.?”
She nodded. “After destroying the potion around the locket, he fell gravely ill. Dumbledore believed the curse had struck him down. Before he died, he asked me to continue his mission—and Dumbledore promised to keep me hidden until it was time for you to know.”
Hannah unclasped the golden locket from around her neck and pressed it into Harry’s hand. The metal was warm, engraved with a curling serpent, the edges blackened with age.
“This is it,” Harry whispered. “The real Slytherin locket.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “The one my father found.”
Harry swallowed hard. “Where is he now?”
Hannah’s voice broke. “He died last year. Slowly. Painfully. I watched the life drain from him. I swore his death would not be in vain.”
Harry lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one.
“Don’t be,” she said. “Just vow to help me finish what my father began.”
She straightened suddenly, urgency flashing in her eyes as she noted the time on his alarm clock. “Harry, you must leave this house now. The Death Eaters have breached your protection spell. Voldemort knows where you are. I placed a temporary invisibility charm over Little Whinging, but it won’t hold for long. The Death Eaters are coming for you.”
Harry hesitated. “The Order would’ve warned me.”
“I’m with the Order,” she insisted. “I joined recently. I can’t explain everything, but I have inside information no one else has. If you wait for Remus’ confirmation or the rest of the Order to arrive, it will be too late.”
Her tone softened to a desperate plea. “Please, Harry. I want Voldemort gone as much as you do. He killed everyone I loved.”
Harry studied her face. Something in her eyes—the same fierce grief he carried—made him believe her.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 3
The Seventh Horcrux
They worked quickly, packing Harry’s things into his trunk and banishing any trace that they had ever been there. When the room was bare, Harry stood in the center, looking around one last time. Every mark on the wall, every creak of the floorboards, every bit of dust in the corners carried the weight of seventeen long years of suffering he’d endured at his aunt and uncle’s hands. This was the last time he would ever stand inside Number Four, Privet Drive.
Freedom should have felt incredible. Instead, it stung. He would have given anything to trade this night for one more moment with Dumbledore alive—and his friends safe.
He exhaled sharply and turned to Hannah. “So, how do we go? Wait for the Knight Bus? Or maybe fly under my invisibility cloak?”
Hannah shook her head. “Too risky. Voldemort can trace that sort of magic. He’ll be watching for you. Apparition is cleaner—faster. We’ll Apparate.”
Harry hesitated. “Right…about that.” His shoes squeaked against the floor as he scraped them nervously. “I haven’t passed the test yet.”
A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but then she smiled. “It’s alright. Take my hand. We can go together.”
Before he could think twice, Harry grasped her hand, clutching his belongings with the other. He hated the feeling of Apparition—the suffocating pressure, the spin, the squeeze—but for some reason, he trusted her. The world compressed into darkness, his insides twisting, until a deafening pop signaled their arrival.
They landed in the shadowed entryway of a terraced house.
Harry recognized the place instantly—the peeling wallpaper, the suffocating gloom, the smell of decay. Grimmauld Place was still haunted by his godfather’s ghost, in memory if not in spirit. Every inch of the place reminded him of Sirius: the loneliness, the wasted years, the loss. He’d never wanted to come back here.
“It’s dreadful, I know,” Hannah said softly. “But I’ve been working on undoing my grandmother’s old protective charms so I can fix it up.”
“You?” Harry blinked.
She gave a small, knowing smile. “Technically, we both own this house now. You inherited Sirius’ half. I inherited the other. Looks like we’re stuck with each other, at least for a time.”
Harry almost laughed. “It could be worse.” Then, quieter: “Is anyone else here? Remus? The Order?”
“Not yet. Remus is on duty in Muggle London. The rest won’t arrive until after midnight. I’ve sent Remus an owl explaining why I came for you early. For now, we should get your things upstairs. We both need some rest.”
They climbed the creaking stairs, dragging his trunk and Hedwig’s cage. But something in Hannah’s manner felt restrained—like she was keeping something from him.
“Hannah, wait,” Harry said, stopping mid-stair. “There’s something you haven’t told me. I’ve been around enough secretiveness over the past few years to recognize it when I see it.”
She turned, studying him for a long moment. “Yes. But you’ve already had enough shocks for one night.”
“I’ve lost too many people already,” he said, voice rough. “If there’s more—if it could help me stop him—I need to know. Please.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Alright.” She sat on the steps and gestured for him to do the same. “You know that when Voldemort learned part of the prophecy, he believed he had to kill you to stay in power, right?”
Harry nodded.
“And you know your mother’s love—what she did that night—saved you. It destroyed him instead.”
Another nod.
“What you don’t know,” she said quietly, “is that the magic your mother used was ancient—older than Hogwarts itself. It’s called Norsic Elf magic. It can’t be taught, only inherited. Your mother had it in her blood.”
Harry stared at her. “My mum—what?”
“Think about it. Her eyes. That green. It’s rare. It’s the mark of that lineage.” Hannah’s gaze held his. “You have it too, Harry. That’s why you’ve always been different. Why you could do things no other wizard your age could.”
Harry’s mind reeled. He remembered all the strange bursts of power that had happened when he was a kid—the glass vanishing at the zoo, the wild magic when he was angry. Could that have been it all along?
“There’s more,” Hannah continued gently. “The night Voldemort killed your parents, he planned to make his seventh Horcrux using your death. He meant to seal it inside something that belonged to Godric Gryffindor. But your mother’s magic interfered. Her love—her blood—repelled the curse and forced that fragment of his soul into you instead.”
Harry froze. “You mean—?”
Hannah nodded. “Yes. The scar. It isn’t just a mark. It’s a binding. Voldemort’s soul is linked to yours. You’re connected to every piece of him.”
The words hit like ice water. “So…I’m a Horcrux,” Harry whispered. “If that’s true, then I would have to die to destroy him.”
Hannah knelt on the step below him, her hands covering his. “Harry, listen to me. There has to be another way. Your mother’s spell wasn’t ordinary—it was love made into magic, something even Voldemort couldn’t understand. We’ll find a way to end him and keep you alive. I swear it.”
Harry wanted to believe her. Something in her voice—steady, certain—made him feel like maybe he could.
“Now,” she said softly, “you need rest. But before we go any further, you must promise me something: never reveal my true identity or what we’ve discussed. Not to anyone.”
He hesitated. “Ron and Hermione already know about the Horcruxes. Dumbledore told me to trust them.”
“Then trust them,” Hannah said. “But tell them nothing more. The fewer who know, the safer they’ll be. For all our sakes.”
Harry nodded slowly. “Alright.”
“Good. Now, come on.”
They reached the hallway at the top of the stairs, where Hannah swirled her wand through the air. A door materialized from nothing—a tall, golden-trimmed frame that shimmered faintly under her spell. She opened it with a small smile.
The room beyond was breathtaking. Pale blue walls glimmered like moonlight, and the air smelled faintly of lavender. Soft draperies framed a wide bed with silver-beaded curtains. A warm fire flickered in a stone hearth, painting the room in gold and amber light.
“Do you like it?” she asked. “I remodeled after my father died. Elf magic. Only those I allow can enter.”
“It’s incredible,” Harry said.
“Good.” She smiled faintly. “It’s also the safest room in Grimmauld Place. Voldemort himself couldn’t find it. So—looks like we’re roommates. At least for the foreseeable future.”
Harry smiled awkwardly. “Right.”
She explained the enchantments—the Circle of Faith, a binding charm ensuring that only those named could enter or leave the house unharmed. The layers of protection were staggering. For the first time that night, Harry felt truly safe.
As she moved about, setting Hedwig’s cage by the window, Harry realized just how exhausted he was. And yet, when she stepped into the adjoining room to change, his thoughts drifted helplessly toward her. She emerged in a silk robe, the firelight tracing soft shadows across her face.
“Sorry,” she said, catching his glance. “It’s all I had clean. I wasn’t exactly planning a rescue mission tonight.”
Harry’s face went crimson. “N-no, it’s fine. Really.”
She raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
He laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
“Well,” she said gently, “we’ve both had enough for one night. Get comfortable. There’s room here in the bed with me if you want, or the couch if you’d rather.”
“I’m fine with the couch,” Harry said automatically—then hesitated when she smiled, patting the bed.
“Come on, Harry, we’re both adults. Come on and get comfortable. You’ve more than earned a good night’s sleep in a cozy bed.”
After a moment’s indecision, he kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bed with her, careful to stay on his side of the mattress. They lay in silence, the fire crackling softly between breaths.
“Goodnight, Harry,” she said.
“Yeah…erm…goodnight,” Harry murmured, turning to fluff his pillow. He checked the clock on the nightstand—midnight. He was officially seventeen. And just like all the other birthdays he suffered under his aunt and uncle’s care, there wasn’t a sound to be heard in acknowledgement. All was silent except for the faint crackle of the fire.
Still, the night was far from underwhelming, like all of his past birthdays had been. He couldn’t believe everything that had happened. In a single breath, he’d left Privet Drive, discovered he was bound to Voldemort’s soul, and landed here beside the most extraordinary girl he’d ever met.
His thoughts drifted unwillingly to the Dursleys. He wondered if the Death Eaters had reached them yet—and, despite everything, a twinge of guilt twisted in his chest. For all their cruelty, he didn’t wish them dead.
Yet, none of that could pull him away from this moment. Hannah lay only inches away—brave, mysterious, impossible—and she had risked everything to save him. Gratitude swelled through him, mingled with something warmer, something he didn’t know how to name. How could he ever thank her for that?
Just as his eyes slipped closed, her whisper brushed the dark. “Happy Birthday, Harry Potter. And…you’re welcome.”
He smiled faintly, and for the first time in a long while, let himself believe he might survive this after all.
Chapter 4 – The Secret Love of Severus Snape
Sunrise streaked gold across the gray morning sky above Grimmauld Place, casting its light over Hannah and Harry as they slept beneath the soft swirl of the four-poster’s covers.
A faint creak broke the hush. Hannah’s eyes opened. For one breath, she was certain someone stood over her — a tall figure, pale-faced and watching. She sat upright, heart pounding — but the figure had vanished.
Was it a dream? An echo of worry?
She gripped her wand. “Lumos.” A small sphere of light bloomed at the tip as she swept her gaze across the room — under the bed, behind the dresser, through the bathroom, the wardrobe — nothing.
Her attention shifted toward the narrow staircase leading up to the kitchen loft. Keeping her wand alight, she crept upward. Every step creaked beneath her bare feet.
“Nothing,” she whispered at last, relief softening her shoulders. She flicked her wand overhead. “Lumos Maximum.” The chandelier flared to life, scattering warm gold across the blue-stone counter. She reached into the icebox, poured herself a goblet of water, and turned —
—straight into him.
Tall. Black-robed. Eyes like polished onyx.
“Ah!” The goblet slipped from her hand.
“Arresto,” he murmured. The goblet froze in mid-air, then landed softly on the table.
“Come with me,” he ordered, his voice low and cold. He seized her by the arm, pulling her through a hidden cupboard door into a dim corridor lined with endless doors. The stone walls breathed damp and secrecy.
“Severus!” Hannah hissed, clutching her chest. “You frightened me half to death! You said we should keep our distance.”
“I did,” he replied, a shadow of a dirty smile playing on his lips. “But I missed you. And I wanted to see how our little mission has progressed.”
He stepped closer, his breath stirring the curls near her temple. Old habits threatened to drag her under—the part of her that still ached to touch him when she was supposed to pretend she didn’t care. She straightened instead, forcing steel into her voice.
“You can’t just appear here on a whim,” she whispered. “Harry’s asleep in the next room.”
Snape’s expression darkened. “Interesting arrangement,” he said. “Sharing a bed with the boy you’re meant to protect. You forget how easily trust becomes temptation.”
“Don’t start,” Hannah shot back. “You told me to stick close to him. To gain his trust.”
“I told you to earn it, not to test his self-control,” he snapped. His tone softened to a cutting drawl. “Potter has never fared well around extraordinary women.”
Hannah raised her wand, eyes flashing. “Enough, Severus. You know why I did what I did. If you can’t trust me to be within his reach, you shouldn’t have chosen me for the job.”
His expression flickered — something almost human before it vanished. He looked away. “We haven’t time for quarrels. The Dark Lord grows impatient. He wants Potter, and I was lucky to survive his wrath after last spring.”
“Then perhaps you should stop making vows you can’t keep,” Hannah said bitterly. “You were protected under Dumbledore. Now that you’ve killed him, you’re alone—and I’m forced to save you from your own recklessness.”
“That will do,” he cut in sharply. “Tell me what the boy knows.”
Hannah hesitated. “He knew everything…except the bit about the seventh Horcrux. I told him.”
Snape’s eyes flashed. “You did what?” He lunged forward, gripping her arm. “I told you to wait for my signal!”
“You told me to do whatever it took to win his trust!” she said, wrenching free. “He won’t betray me, Severus. I read him—he’s honest. And for what it’s worth, he likes me.”
Snape released her with a disgusted sigh. “Merlin, help us. You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“And you’re not?” she countered. “I’ve done everything exactly as you taught me. I kept my alias. The Ministry believes my records. The Order trusts me. Even Remus and Arthur stopped asking questions.”
Snape’s lip twitched—approval, maybe. “My dear Hannah, you always were a quick study,” he murmured. Then, more softly, “Be careful. Don’t reveal more than you must.”
He stepped close enough for her to feel the air shift between them. “For both our sakes,” he added, “dress less…provocatively. Potter’s mind is fragile enough.”
His robes flared as he turned and vanished into the corridor’s darkness.
Hannah pressed a hand to the cold wall, her pulse unsteady. Anger, guilt, and something far more dangerous tangled inside her chest. After a long moment, she slipped back through the cupboard, down the stairs, and into the silent bedroom.
Harry lay still, his breathing even, a faint line between his brows even in sleep. She watched him for a heartbeat, the morning light flickering across his face. Then she sank onto the bed beside him, turned away, and closed her eyes.
For now, the secrets between them would sleep too.
MORE CHAPTERS COMING SOON!!!
© 2006 Lowvee Cole. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.