The summer after third year was a welcome, restorative calm after the storm. It was a time of deep study, quiet friendship, and the slow, patient replenishment of Ariana's magical reserves. As she had promised, she divided her time, creating a new summer tradition that balanced her alliances and her research.
She began with two weeks at the Granger household. Life there was a comforting routine of intellectual pursuits and mundane pleasures. She and Hermione spent long, sun-drenched afternoons by the pool, their lounge chairs buried under stacks of books on advanced Arithmancy and alchemical theory. They would swim, discuss complex magical concepts, and then fall into easy, comfortable silence, simply enjoying the warmth of the sun and each other's company. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, now completely accustomed to their daughter's extraordinary friend, treated her as part of the family, their quiet pride in the two brilliant girls palpable.
Next, she spent a week at Greengrass Manor. The atmosphere there was one of profound, hopeful change. Astoria, now free from the constant, draining presence of the curse, was a different child. She was still delicate, but her eyes were bright with life and laughter. She followed Ariana everywhere, her adoration shining. Ariana spent time with her, playing magical games and subtly monitoring her progress, gathering data on a curse-free Maledictus bloodline. The research with Daphne continued in the great Greengrass library, but it was now less frantic, more theoretical, focused on the long-term goal of preventing the curse from ever latching onto a future generation.
Finally, in mid-August, she sent an owl to Harry and traveled by Floo to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
The ancient Black family home was a shock to the senses. It was a tall, gloomy townhouse steeped in centuries of dark magic and pure-blood prejudice. The air was thick with the scent of dust and decay, and the disembodied heads of house-elves mounted on the walls stared down with vacant, glassy eyes.
But amidst the gloom, there was life. Sirius Black, looking healthier and happier than ever, was working tirelessly with Remus Lupin to clean and de-contaminate the house. They were laughing, trading insults like they were schoolboys again, the deep bond of their friendship a warm light in the oppressive darkness of the house. Harry was there, a permanent smile on his face, finally experiencing a true home, surrounded by the men who were his last links to his parents.
Ariana's presence was a welcome one. She was not part of their boisterous, chaotic energy, but a calm, steadying anchor. She would sit in the dusty drawing-room, reading, while the others worked, her quiet presence a source of comfort.
It was during one of these quiet afternoons that she made her discovery. Sirius, in a fit of determined cleaning, had decided to tackle a series of locked, glass-fronted cabinets in the drawing-room, which were filled with a collection of unpleasant-looking dark artifacts.
"Right, better get this lot out," he muttered, wrestling with a rusty lock. "No idea what my mad old mother was collecting. Probably all cursed."
He finally managed to wrench the cabinet door open, and together, he, Harry, and Ron (who was visiting for the day) began to carefully remove the objects—a snuffbox that snapped viciously at anyone who tried to open it, a heavy, silver music box that played a sinister, discordant tune, and a variety of other dark trinkets.
As they cleared a dusty shelf, Ariana's eyes were drawn to a small object tucked away at the back.
It was a heavy, ornate locket made of gold, with a serpentine 'S' inlaid with glittering green stones. It was unremarkable to the others, just another piece of ugly, old jewelry.
But Ariana felt it instantly.
It was a cold spot in the room, a void of magic that seemed to suck the warmth and light out of the air around it. It felt profoundly, horribly familiar. It was the same cancerous, soul-fragmented magic she had felt from Tom Riddle's diary.
Another Horcrux. Slytherin's locket.
She kept her expression perfectly neutral, her internal composure a stark contrast to the sudden, icy shock that went through her. The original story had involved a long, arduous hunt for this very object. And here it was, lying forgotten in a dusty cabinet.
"What's this?" Harry asked, picking it up. He immediately shivered. "Ugh, feels nasty."
"Probably cursed," Sirius said dismissively. "We'll put it in the rubbish pile with the rest of this junk."
Before he could take it, a frantic, croaking voice echoed from the corner of the room. "Mistress's locket! Kreacher will not allow the half-blood to defile it! It is a treasure of the House of Black!"
The ancient house-elf, Kreacher, appeared, his bulbous eyes glaring with a fanatical devotion. He made a grab for the locket, but Sirius intercepted him.
"Get back, you miserable old git," Sirius snarled, his good mood evaporating at the sight of the elf who represented everything he hated about his family.
As the two began to argue, Ariana stepped forward. "May I see it?" she asked Harry quietly.
Harry, happy to be rid of the unpleasant object, handed it to her. She took it, her fingers barely brushing the cold metal. The dark magic within it writhed, sensing her own immense power, but she shielded her mind from its whispers, her focus absolute.
She turned to the grappling Sirius and Kreacher. "Mr. Black," she said, her voice calm but authoritative, cutting through their argument. "Kreacher. The locket is indeed a powerful artifact of your family. But it is also cursed with a particularly malevolent piece of soul-magic. It corrupts those who wear it or keep it close."
Kreacher looked at her, his usual disdain for anyone not of the Black bloodline warring with the truth of her words. He knew the locket was dark; his master, Regulus, had told him so.
"Its presence in this house is a danger," Ariana continued. "However, destroying it outright would also destroy a priceless Black family heirloom." She looked directly at Kreacher, her eyes holding not pity, but a clear, logical understanding. "You served Regulus Black, did you not? He was the one who retrieved this locket from the Dark Lord."
Kreacher froze, his eyes widening in shock. No one had spoken his beloved master's name in years. "How… how does the girl know?" he croaked.
"I have studied the history," she said simply. "Regulus died trying to destroy this object, did he not? He failed because the soul-fragment within it is too powerful. But he entrusted it to you, to finish his work." She held up the locket. "I can finish his work. I can remove the curse, the piece of the Dark Lord's soul, without destroying the locket itself. I can cleanse it, restoring it as an heirloom of your House."
She then looked at the elf, offering not a command, but a promise. "Will you entrust it to me, Kreacher? To honor the final wish of your master, Regulus?"
The ancient house-elf stared at her, his large, bloodshot eyes filled with a storm of conflicting emotions. For decades, he had been bound by contradictory orders—to protect the locket and to destroy it. This girl, this strange, powerful witch, was offering him a way to do both. She was offering to fulfill his master's dying wish.
With a low, shuddering sob, Kreacher bowed so low his nose touched the dusty floor. "Kreacher will entrust the Mistress's locket to the wise young witch," he rasped. "Kreacher will obey."
Sirius stared, utterly dumbfounded. He had spent weeks shouting at and fighting with the elf, to no avail. Ariana, with a few calm, logical sentences, had earned his undying loyalty.
Ariana slipped the locket into a specially shielded pouch she carried for just such contingencies. She would keep it a secret for now. Revealing the existence of another Horcrux to Dumbledore and the others would create a new wave of panic and action. She preferred to work on her own timeline. She had the diary, a neutralized Horcrux, to study. Now she had a live one. The Maledictus curse was one project. This… this was another. A chance to study the anatomy of a soul-fragment, to learn how to excise it without destroying the vessel.
As she returned to her quiet reading, leaving Sirius and Harry to stare at the now-docile Kreacher in amazement, a quiet satisfaction settled over her. The summer was proving to be even more productive than she had planned. The game board was becoming clearer, and she was steadily, secretly, removing the opponent's most powerful pieces, long before he even knew they were in play.