" I like blue, Harry. Let me have some blue at my funeral."
It had been six weeks since they had buried Jonas, and yet, the sting
of loss had not even begun to abate for Harry. He missed his friend,
his witty, self-deprecating humour, and simply his mere presence.
He twirled the stem of the single Veronica flower he had taken from
the service, blue of course, between his fingers as he released a
deep breath before placing it on the desk in his study.
Harry knew loss well, had carried it with him his entire life, but
Jonas's death resonated much differently with him.
His parent's murder had always been there, plaguing him often when
he slept and the days that followed after he'd dreamed it.
Still, he'd only ever truly dreamt it.
Jonas had died in front of his very eyes, and even now, after
everything, he had been powerless to stop it.
Perhaps he merely felt guilty or perhaps it was the realisation that,
despite his best efforts, he could not save everyone, not even the
select few he held in his heart.
It could be any of the others next. A daunting but undeniable
prospect.
Harry shook his head of the thought.
It would serve no purpose to dwell on something so maudlin.
Jonas's death had only been the beginning, after all.
Once more, having returned Jonas's body home, Harry had met the
Hag that was Jonas's mother, who, if truth be told, seemed rather
dismissive of the death of her son.
It turned out Jonas was one of almost a dozen children she had
birthed, and one she had such little care for, as she saw him as a
human. Her rather aloof reaction had angered Harry, but Lucinda
reminded him that it was not in a hag's nature to be so maternal.
Jonas had told him much the same over the years.
His mother had attended the funeral at the very least, but Harry had
avoided her throughout the service, not wanting to do something he
may later regret because of his grief.
She had stayed until he was buried, and then simply left without a
word to any.
Jonas's father, however, could not have reacted any differently.
The man was nothing short of devastated at the loss of the son he
had raised, and there had been no words Harry could offer to bring
him any comfort.
There was no doubt in his mind he blamed Harry for what had
happened, even if he did not say it in so many words.
No, it had been an awful few weeks, and losing and burying Jonas
had been only the beginning.
Oddly enough, Lord Greengrass and the rest of the family did not
seem to blame Harry for what had happened to Daphne.
The curse had done far too much damage to save her from her fate,
but Harry's efforts had given enough time for the Greengrass parents
to arrive at Hogsmeade via Hogwarts to be there for her in her final
moments.
According to Lord Greengrass, and those that had been there,
Daphne had died somewhat peacefully in the presence of her
parents.
It brought little relief to Harry to know that, as again, he was
reminded that he had been unable to prevent her death.
Hers had not hit him quite as hard as Jonas, but he mourned for her
still.
What they once had may have come and gone, but he still cared for
the girl and the effect her murder had on Pansy, who had been
beside herself since.
She too didn't blame Harry, and just like Lord Greengrass, had
turned her anger towards Draco Malfoy.
The thought of him sickened Harry to his very core, but he had not
gotten away with it, not even close, and Harry took some comfort
knowing that he would be suffering every day of his life in more ways
than one.
Not that he would live to truly experience the long-term misery Harry
had ensured he would endure, especially if Lord Greengrass were to
manage to find him.
Harry was pulled from his thoughts by a tentative knock at the door
and he straightened his robes before clearing his throat.
"Come in," he called.
It was Sirius that entered the room, offering him a cautious smile as
he did so.
Harry had not been in the most accommodating of moods with all
that had happened, but he was trying to move past it as Jonas would
want him to.
"How're you getting on?" Sirius asked as he took the seat on the
opposite side of the desk.
Harry could only shrug in response.
"I don't know," he answered honestly.
Sirius nodded his understanding.
"It doesn't ever really get easier," he sighed. "It will always hurt when
you think of them. You just get better at coping with the loss. I find
that thinking of the better times I shared with your parents helps. I
won't ever get over losing them, but I want to remember them for the
people I knew when they were at their happiest."
"I'm trying," Harry assured the man.
"I know," Sirius replied with a smile, "and it will take some time. You'll
get there."
Harry knew that he would and he appreciated the words of his
godfather.
"Thank you."
Sirius clapped him on the shoulder as he stood.
"Come on," he urged. "The Tornadoes are playing the Harpies and
you're going with me and the werewolves."
"I don't feel like it," Harry murmured.
"Well, you'd better get in the mood because you're bloody paying,
you rich little shit. I spent my allowance already."
Harry laughed for the first time in as long as he could remember as
Sirius pulled him to his feet.
"You don't have an allowance," he pointed out.
"Cassie has limited my spending after the incident in The Cauldron, "
Sirius grumbled.
"You mean after you and Remus set fire to the bar with
Firewhiskey?"
"You make it sound so dramatic."
"Mundungus Fletcher ended up naked from how badly his robes
were burnt," Harry reminded him. "As far as I'm concerned, you
should have to pay compensation to everyone who had to see that."
Sirius grimaced.
"I think seeing it for myself should have been enough of a
punishment," he muttered, grimacing at the memory.
"Are you talking about Dung again?" Remus questioned as they
entered the kitchen.
He was engrossed in a game of chess with Cain who appeared to be
losing quite badly.
Sirius nodded.
"I still wish one of you would obliviate that picture from my head.
Honestly, I've not been able to eat chipolatas since."
Remus smirked in response as Cain growled irritably.
"I'm done for in three moves," he groaned.
Remus smiled proudly.
"You are," he agreed.
The game finished a moment later, and a frustrated Cain reluctantly
offered his hand to the older werewolf.
"Well played."
Remus accepted the proffered limb and wrapped an arm around his
shoulder.
"You're getting much better," he praised. "You'd beat Sirius without
any problems."
"Like that's an achievement," Harry snorted.
Sirius shot him glare, but his expression brightened as he
remembered why they had gathered in the kitchen.
"Quidditch! Harry's taking us to the match."
Both Remus and Cain seemed surprised by the revelation, but
neither were opposed to the idea.
The two of them had spent a lot of time together recently, bonding
over their similarities and having formed quite the friendship for
themselves.
Harry was pleased they had one another.
Despite him and Sirius having always done what they can for their
friends, having one of their own kind around was good for both of
them.
"Nice," Cain declared. "I'm backing the Tornadoes in this one."
"No chance," Sirius declared. "Jones is too good a seeker to be
beaten."
"I bet Harry could beat her," Cain replied.
Harry shook his head at the thought.
It had been so long since he had flown, let alone chased a Snitch.
Perhaps he should invest some time into it?
He'd had no reason to since Viktor had left Durmstrang and gone on
to be the most sought-after player in the wizarding world.
He still wrote to Harry often, but with everything that had happened
for both of them over the past few years, they hadn't found the time
to meet up.
Both assured the other they would, and it was something Harry
looked forward to.
He quite missed the surly Bulgarian.
"Come on, Harry," Sirius urged as he put his coat on. "The match will
be starting soon."
Harry followed suit, adding a scarf to stave off the chill of the
stadium.
Things were not particularly great right now with how the world was,
but it would get better.
He would see to that; for Jonas, Daphne, and everyone else who
had suffered for the actions of Voldemort and those that followed
him.
"You have been avoiding me."
"I have," the Grey Lady returned, her gaze remaining firmly on the
horizon beyond Hogsmeade.
Albus had finally managed to locate the ghost at the top of the
Astronomy Tower, and he expected he'd only been able to do so
because she'd allowed it.
"Why?" he asked.
"Have you considered that I may not wish to discuss what it is you
want to know?" Helena replied. "The walls have ears, Headmaster. I
would have thought you had learned that by now. Am I no longer
allowed to wallow in my own shame?"
"You are free to do as you wish," Albus assured her. "Were time not
of the essence, I would not press you, but as you can see, we have
not been afforded such luxury," he added, showing the ghost his
blackened hand.
"Who is to replace you?" Helena questioned, unsurprised by the
cursed appendage.
"Minerva will take my place, I expect," Albus explained. "She may not
be pleased, but she will do what is right by the school."
"She was a bright student," Helena lamented. "She will serve
Hogwarts well, as you have. My mother would have approved of
you."
Albus offered the young woman a smile.
"Such words makes my time here all the more worthwhile."
Helena hummed in response.
"You want her diadem," she said simply.
"Not to possess it."
"No. You're not like him. "
"Tom Riddle."
Helena's nostrils flared at the mention of the boy.
"He promised to return it to me. Instead, he perverted it with his foul
magic. My mother would be even more ashamed of me that I helped
him."
"Your mother was a wise woman," Albus replied gently. "You are not
the only one to have fallen for his charm. He always was
exceptionally gifted with words."
"He was," Helena agreed quietly.
A momentary silence fell between them before she turned to look at
him.
"He brought it here as he said he would, but he did not return it to
me," she explained. "He has hidden it in my mother's room, an insult
to her and me for being so foolish."
"Your mother's room?"
Helena grinned proudly.
"So many have happened across it over the past centuries, very few
figuring out how to access the room. Tom knows, and a few others
before him made use of it."
"Where can I find it?"
"You already did, Headmaster. Several years ago before you were
appointed to your position."
"The chamber pots," Albus mused aloud.
"The room provides what is needed by design. It is a magnificent
piece of magic. Something I could never have done. I never was as
clever or as gifted as my mother. She never said as much, but I
know she was disappointed in me as a daughter."
Albus shook his head.
"I do not believe that is true," he comforted. "Rowena Ravenclaw
was perhaps the most spectacular witch to have been born in the
last thousand years. I expect her final regret was the rift that had
formed between the two of you."
"It is mine," Helena murmured to herself. "Come, I will show you the
room."
Albus offered the ghost a grateful bow and followed as she led him
down the stairs onto the seventh floor of the castle where it was
much warmer.
"I always was rather fond of this tapestry," he commented as he
observed Barnabas the Barmy teaching a group of trolls to dance. "It
has been here for as long as I can remember."
"It was Salazar that placed it there," Helena explained. "It was a gift
to him from a family he assisted who was being haunted by a rather
mischievous poltergeist. He hated the tapestry and put it here so no
one would have to see it. He released the poltergeist on the castle
when he fell out with Godric and decided to leave."
"Peeves?"
Helena nodded.
"So many before you have tried to rid the castle of him, but they
failed. Salazar made sure that only he could do it. I think it was a
final stand against Godric. Peeves certainly did his best to irritate
him at every possible moment."
Dumbledore chuckled amusedly.
"There it is," Helena sighed, pointing to the wall opposite the
tapestry.
Albus frowned and the ghost rolled her eyes at him.
"Just walk back and forth past the wall and think of the room you
need. It will come if you do it right."
Albus nodded his understanding and began doing so.
' I need the room that Tom Riddle hid the Diadem in.'
After passing the wall for the third time, a large, ornate door
appeared in the wall.
"I wish you luck in your search, Headmaster," Helena bid before
vanishing through the tapestry.
Pushing open the door, Albus deflated as he realised the
monumentality of the task ahead.
"Oh dear," he murmured when he stepped into the room.
This could indeed take some time.
Nonetheless, he drew his wand and began making his way through
the piles of broken furniture and other discarded items, some of
which certainly piqued his curiosity.
He ignored them for the time being.
Before the night was out, he was determined to locate another of
Tom's Horcruxes, bringing them one step closer to seeing him
defeated once and for all.
The Dark Lord's fury had been palpable when he had learned of
what Lucius's foolish spawn had done in Hogsmeade. Draco had
neither sought permission nor approval of his planned venture and
his efforts had lost one of Voldemort's most valuable assets.
Lucius may have fallen from grace in recent months, but he had
been useful once, and the Dark Lord had hoped he would prove
himself such again.
Now, that would not happen.
Draco had been punished most severely for his transgression, and
according to Bella, still did even further than anticipated.
The thought brought a smirk to his lips.
Despite Potter having been the one to administer it, the fool's
continued suffering brought him much joy.
With Lucius dead, Lord Voldemort had opted to leave Malfoy Manor
in favour of his ancestral home in Little Hangelton.
The continued bleating and sobbing of Narcissa had grated on him
quickly, and he would endure the muggle dwelling to be away from it.
Still, he'd needed to consider the loss carefully before proceeding
with his plans.
Rodolphus and Lucius had been respected amongst his ranks, and
the loss of both meant his inner circle was dwindling.
Adding Potter's efforts that led to him killing Nott, those the Dark
Lord trusted numbered only few.
Voldemort shook his head irritably.
He could have done without so many important losses, and yet,
Potter's own gathering had not escaped unscathed.
Perhaps the only thing Draco had achieved was his small part in the
death of Potter's part-hag friend, though it was no consolation when
measured to his own losses.
No, the trade was not one Voldemort would have made if given the
choice.
"What is it, Bella?" he huffed as the woman entered the room.
Merely by chance, it was the very same he had put an end to his
muggle line, and even now, he could vividly remember the bodies of
his father and grandparents sprawled lifeless on the floor between
him and his most devout follower.
"Draco seems to have taken a turn for the worse, my lord," Bella
replied with a bow, falling to her knees. "I couldn't care less if he was
to perish after what he did, but Narcissa… He is all she has left."
The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes.
Draco had proven himself a bigger fool when he had chosen his
father's life over his mother's.
Did he truly expect Potter to be honourable enough to accept his
choice?
Voldemort grudgingly respected the ruthlessness his foe had
demonstrated.
It was exactly what he would have done, even if it was an odd notion
to admire Potter for anything.
He frowned at the thought before shifting his attention back to the
kneeling Bellatrix.
"Draco deserves nothing less than what he is experiencing."
Bellatrix nodded as she stood.
"You are right, my lord," she replied before turning and heading
towards the door.
Voldemort released a deep breath.
He was tired of the badgering and interruptions, and he could not
deny he was curious as to what Potter had done to Draco.
The memories he had reviewed several times had shown nothing
evident.
Potter had only touched Draco with the tip of his wand as he'd
released him, and only a few days later, he had become rather ill.
Ever since, he'd slowly deteriorated, and was constantly being fed a
concoction of Dreamless Sleep and Pain-relief potions, both of which
were highly addictive.
"Very well," he sighed as he swept across the room. "I will see the
boy."
It was not out of sympathy that he did so, but only to sate the
curiosity he felt.
Bellatrix offered him a grateful nod and the two of them vanished
from the Riddle home, arriving at Malfoy Manor only a moment later.
The home remained full to capacity with his followers, many of whom
having been publicly outed by Wormtail during his trial.
It was quite the blow to the movement.
The Dark Lord no longer had eyes and ears within the Ministry,
which meant that he was blind to what his enemy was planning.
With Cassiopeia Black as Minister, that was all but a disaster.
"He is just in here, my lord," Bellatrix whispered after she had led
him into the family wing of the manor.
As expected, Narcissa was seated next to the bed, the bags under
her eyes speaking volumes of how little she had slept recently. They
were bloodshot too from the tears she had spilled for the son that
volunteered her life to save his own.
The mere sight of Draco sickened the Dark Lord.
Lucius had a proclivity towards cowardice, but his offspring was the
very, unwavering definition of the word.
"Thank you for coming, my lord," Narcissa whispered as she stood.
My lord?
The woman had never deigned to join his ranks nor accept his mark.
He was not her lord but had been a tolerated presence at best. Now
that it suited her, it appeared she was willing to subjugate herself to a
degree, at least.
What choice did she have?
Draco was one of the most wanted people in the country after his
antics, and he could not simply be taken to St Mungo's to be
examined.
The Dark Lord said nothing as his gaze shifted to the unconscious
form.
Draco was deathly pale, and perspiring profusely, trembling like a
terrified child.
"What are his symptoms?"
"When he last woke, he was coughing and vomiting up blood,"
Narcissa choked. "He struggles for breath, and he cannot stand
unaided. He is weak, my lord."
Voldemort hummed as he stepped forward and peered closely at the
young man.
It certainly seemed as though Draco was on his deathbed. He even
had the faint aroma of it permeating around him.
Whatever Potter had done was most unpleasant, and the last of the
Malfoy line deserved no less, as far as he was concerned.
Nevertheless, if the boy was to die, he would never hear the end of it
from Bellatrix, and the Dark Lord found himself torn between
tolerating the fool's presence longer, or the unending complaining of
Bellatrix.
Neither was preferable, but he could quite easily silence Draco.
Bella was not so easily subdued.
Releasing a deep breath, he placed the tip of his against the
blonde's temple and allowed his magic to work its way into his
system, frowning as he met a powerful resistance.
The magic he encountered was cold, colder than anything he had
felt before and he had spent many hours among the Dementors over
the years.
No, this was something else entirely, something decidedly much
more dangerous, and yet, there was almost a familiarity about it.
"This is old magic," he murmured in surprised, questioning where
Potter would have gained such knowledge and ability. "It cannot be
undone so easily, if at all."
"There is nothing you can do?" Narcissa pressed.
The Dark Lord had not heard her. He was distracted by the thought
of where he had encountered this magic before, and his eyes
widened in realisation as he stumbled forward.
For the second time in only a matter of weeks, a sudden bout of
fatigue and breathlessness washed over him, and he struggled to
stay upright, leaning heavily on the bed to prevent himself from
keeling over.
"My lord?" Bellatrix questioned worriedly.
Voldemort waved her off as he attempted to steady his breathing; a
difficult feat as the unfamiliar feeling of panic had set in.
The magic Draco appeared to be plagued with was something the
Dark Lord had indeed encountered, though he had paid no heed to it
at the time.
"I'm fine," he assured Bellatrix as the worst of his sudden ailment
past. "There is something I must look into that may reveal just what
has happened to Draco."
With that, he swept from the room and vanished from Malfoy Manor,
returning to Little Hangelton where he made his way towards what
remained of his magical lineage.
The Gaunt shack was as dilapidated as ever and was only being
held up by his own efforts from years gone by.
It had been here he had first experienced the cold magic, but in his
euphoria of having killed his muggle relatives and ignorance of such
magic during his youth, he had all but forgotten about it, until now.
The sense of dread that had filled him at the realisation only became
heavier as he sensed the presence of another having been here
recently; a most unwelcome one at that.
"Dumbledore," the Dark Lord muttered.
Voldemort truly was beginning to worry now.
Taking a calming breath and reminding himself of just how many
Horcruxes he had created, he navigated his way through the
defences he'd placed here with a hiss and, without preamble, tore
the loose floorboard away.
It was gone.
The Gaunt family ring had been taken.
Swallowing deeply and fighting to retain what was left of his
composure, the Dark Lord realised that he needed to check on the
others, and with that in mind, he destroyed the shack with a wave of
his wand before vanishing from Little Hangelton once more.
"So, that's that then," Harry murmured as the ashes of what
remained of the diadem blew across the floor of Dumbledore's office.
"It all seems rather anti-climactic."
The headmaster nodded his agreement.
"It does, but I do wonder if Tom can feel when one of the Horcruxes
is destroyed."
"He knows," Harry said confidently. "He may be unaware of what has
happened, but he can feel something. I can. It's an internal
disturbance followed by a sense of foreboding."
Dumbledore hummed as he tugged thoughtfully at his beard.
"It is quite concerning," he mused aloud. "Should he come to know of
what is causing it, he will guard the last one carefully."
"Are you any closer to figuring out what it could be?" Harry asked.
"I have an idea, but not one I am certain of," Dumbledore sighed.
"Severus mentioned the rather spectacular control over his snake
that Tom has. It is particularly obedient. Could you perhaps shed
some light on the nature of such a relationship?"
Harry frowned as he pondered the friendship he had shared with
Hector when he had been a boy and shook his head.
"Snakes are quite stubborn, and they certainly don't follow orders
given to them if they do not wish to carry them out. If he has
complete control of his, it cannot be ruled out. He's arrogant enough
to have used a live vessel but I would not bet my life on it. Anyway, it
doesn't matter. Even if one of his Horcruxes remained, he will be
powerless to make use of it when he is dead. I hope he does
discover what has happened. It will urge him to hide it well enough
that no one will come across it by chance."
Dumbledore conceded the point with a nod.
"Besides, even if they did, they wouldn't likely know what to do with
it. Only a special breed of moron who knew what it was would
attempt to release the soul piece of someone vile enough to create a
Horcrux." Harry pointed out. "Our focus should be on Tom and his
followers now. Enough of those have been destroyed," he added,
nodding to the sprinkling of ash that remained.
"You are right, Harry," Dumbledore replied with a bow, chuckling as
Fawkes and the thunderbird appeared in the room and began
chasing one another around the office. "I might say, they seem to
have taken to each other rather well considering they are usually
quite independent creatures."
"They have."
Harry was not going to mention that the commonality between them
was him. Both had worked together to save his life and seemed to
have forged a bond of sorts between them.
"Have you given her a name?" Albus asked curiously.
Harry shook his head.
"It doesn't feel right to," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe she already has
one, but our bond is not strong enough that I have learned it yet. Did
you name Fawkes?"
"No, I learned his name from Fawkes himself after we had spent
close to ten years getting to know one another," Dumbledore
explained. "Even now, our bond grows stronger. It will be one of the
few regrets I shall carry when I am no longer here," he added sadly.
"How long would you say you have left?"
"Perhaps five or six months I expect," Dumbledore sighed. "I would
ask something of you, Harry, if it isn't such an imposition. Fawkes will
live on after I am gone. I ask that you, if he consents, of course, keep
an eye on him. I do not know what he will do, but knowing he has
another there will bring me some much-needed peace. He is fond of
you, and your own companion already."
Harry nodded immediately.
"Fawkes will always be welcome with us."
Dumbledore chuckled as the two birds trilled and continued their
game of aerial tag, much to the amusement of the two men.
"There is something that I have been meaning to ask you," Harry
said tentatively, breaking the silence a moment later.
"I am, as ever, at your disposal, Harry," Dumbledore returned.
Harry deflated as he removed the Gaunt ring and placed it on the
desk between them.
"I was wondering what it was like when you used it?"
The headmaster leaned forward as he eyed the ring and pondered
the question carefully.
"For me, it was the closure that I needed," he answered. "What came
to me was not the sister I remembered, but an essence of her that I
recognised. The stone does not bring back the dead as I expect
Ignotus Peverell intended, but something of them can be
summoned."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"Your parents?"
"I've thought about it," Harry admitted, "but the more I do, the more I
realise that I didn't know them. I have an idea of the kind of people
they were from what others have told me, and I am content with the
impression I have. I do not wish to risk summoning them only to
realise that I have been fed an idealistic perception of who they
were."
"That is a very mature line of thinking, Harry," Dumbledore praised.
"People do tend to idealise those that they lose prematurely."
"So, you do not think it is a good idea?"
"I think that is your decision alone to make," Dumbledore replied,
"but I find that sometimes, ignorance truly can be blissful. That is not
to say that I believe you would be disappointed in them, they truly
were exceptional…"
"But neither of us knew one another," Harry cut in. "They were gone
when I was a baby, and I do not need the same closure you did. I
accepted what happened to them long ago."
"Then I believe you have answered your own question," Dumbledore
replied gently. "You live, Harry, and I would not see you fail to do so
by clinging to a past you cannot change. We must look to the future,
or we become obsessed with what has happened instead of the
many wonderful things we have to look forward to. It took me almost
a century to learn that."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"Thank you," he offered as he stood.
"No, thank you, Harry," Dumbledore returned with a smile. "For
bringing me a semblance of peace," he added, nodding towards the
frolicking birds.
Harry chuckled as he shook his head.
"I expect she will want to stay a little longer," he mused aloud. "If she
becomes too much trouble, you will find that warm milk will settle her
down."
"I shall bear that in mind," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling
merrily as he observed the creatures.
"Goodnight, Headmaster."
"And to you, Harry."
Placing the ring back on his finger, Harry took his leave of the office
via the floo network, feeling unburdened of the question he had been
turning over in his mind.
There would always be the urge to summon James and Lily Potter,
but now, it would be easier to ignore knowing that doing so would
likely do him little good.
He had grown without them, and though he would always think of
them with the fondest of thoughts, that was all that they would
remain.
They deserved to rest peacefully, and perhaps when Harry's life
reached its end, he would see them once more.
The Dark Lord screamed in a mixture of fury and anguish as he
threw the locket into the lake containing the inferi, burning the
mocking note left to him by Regulus Black that explained what had
happened.
His Horcrux was gone!
It would not be so disastrous if he could account for any of the
others, but with Malfoy Manor already being turned upside down and
Bellatrix nursing the severe wounds she had been left with for her
own foolishness, Lord Voldemort held out little hope.
He took a calming breath as he took stock.
The ring, locket, and cup were undoubtedly gone, and the diary was
currently missing.
Narcissa fearfully assured him that she would check all of the hidden
rooms in the house for it, but the Dark Lord had already concluded
that it was gone.
Having walked through every corridor and entering every room in the
house, he had felt nothing of himself anywhere.
Had the diary been present, he would have, and his only hope for it
to be recovered relied on Narcissa finding it in the Malfoy vault at
Gringotts.
No, Lucius would not have hidden it there, not when his home was a
veritable Aladdin's Cave of dark objects that had never been
discovered throughout any of the Ministry raids.
That left only the diadem and the piece he had gifted for Nagini to
guard; the only one he could be certain was intact.
In only a matter of hours, his world had come crashing down around
him, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he truly
felt himself enveloped in fear.
It was unacceptable.
Every ounce of pain and suffering he had endured to create his
Horcruxes had seemingly been for nothing, and in truth, the Dark
Lord doubted he could make another.
The last of his creations had been a struggle to complete and had
left him weakened for several weeks after.
With the current state of the war, he could not take such a risk.
What he needed, more than anything, was to secure what Horcruxes
he had yet learned the fate of.
Nagini would have to be kept safe, but the diadem presented quite
the problem.
With it being within Hogwarts, it would be the most difficult to access,
but there appeared to be little choice in the matter.
The Dark Lord needed to know if it remained where he had left it,
however, there was none he trusted enough to do so on his behalf.
Severus would be the obvious choice, but the man would likely know
exactly what it was he held, if and when he retrieved it.
His knowledge of the Dark Arts was close to his own, and Voldemort
could not discount the prospect that Severus was indeed an
unreliable asset.
It was why he had kept him at a distance since his return.
He had spent too many years around Dumbledore to be trusted
entirely, and certainly not with something so vital.
No, the Dark Lord would have to find a way to check on it himself.
He would need to ponder the matter, and in the meantime, hope that
Narcissa Malfoy located the diary he had foolishly entrusted to her
now deceased husband.
Narrowing his eyes at the basin that had once housed the locket, he
destroyed it with a flick of his wand before vanishing from the cave,
still unable to shake the sense of dread, despite his best efforts to
reassure himself of his own immortality.
Grief was an unfamiliar concept to Lucinda.
She had never lost anyone before, nor had she witnessed any she
had grown with mourn for the death of another.
To vampires, death was something that was seldom even
considered. Being immortal meant that the very notion was so far
from their regular thought process that it simply did not exist unless
someone fell afoul of the law from their own doing.
Draikon was a strong enough leader to ensure that did not happen,
and the last time one of the clan had met such a fate had been
decades, perhaps centuries ago.
Nonetheless, having now seen what grief was like for herself, she
somewhat understood it.
Jonas was gone, and he would not be coming back.
Although the sentiment did not quite register the same with her as it
did the others, Lucinda certainly felt something at his loss.
Worse for her, however, was how it had affected Harry.
There had been no laughter or smiles from him since, and she knew
that he had slept little.
Lucinda had not seen him shed a tear, but she could see the pain in
his eyes every time he met her gaze, and she found she did not care
for it.
There was nothing she would not have done to rid him of it.
The past weeks had been dreadful to see him endure.
Lucinda had been there for him as best she could, often the two of
them not saying a word as she simply held him. In truth, she did not
know what to say, but she quickly figured out that her being there
was maybe all he needed in that moment.
When she wasn't with Harry, she continued serving as Cassiopeia's
personal guard.
The woman had been beside herself with fury at what had occurred
in Hogsmeade and had promised that whatever action was
necessary would be taken to ensure that it would not be repeated.
That very evening, The Daily Prophet had released every name
provided to the Ministry by Wormtail, and overnight, many of the
purebloods and the others that were named had gone to ground.
Still, the aurors had been conducting raids and rounding those up
they could find.
One by one, Voldemort's support was falling, but Lucinda knew it
was not enough.
Those that were being captured were little more than the dregs of a
very deep barrel, but progress was indeed progress, no matter how
small.
She was pulled from her thoughts by a knock at the door, and as she
opened it, she was taken aback by the sight of Harry, his look of
abject sadness having faded since she had left him this morning.
He even offered her something resembling a smile, an expression
she had not seen for several weeks now.
"Are you okay?" she asked tentatively.
Harry nodded.
"I'm getting there. I will be."
Lucinda nodded, a warmth that had been absent for so long
spreading through her chest as Harry opened his arms.
She fell into his embrace without hesitation and he laughed as she
picked him up with ease.
"It's unbecoming for someone of my station to be manhandled like
this," Harry sighed.
Lucinda raised an eyebrow at him.
"Out there you might be Lord Black, Lord Potter, or whatever other
title they want to give you," she snorted. "In here they don't mean
anything. You're still the same annoying little shit I met on my first
day at Durmstrang."
"Annoying little shit?"
Lucinda grinned as she nodded.
"But I would not change a thing about you," she murmured fondly as
she placed him back on the floor and kissed him on the cheek,
frowning as she caught sight of an owl perched on the other side of
her window.
"Well, I doubt that it is for me," she said, nodding towards the
creature.
Harry scowled as he allowed the bird entry and relieved it of the note
he carried.
Whatever the letter contained surprised him, and he nodded
thoughtfully before placing it in his pocket.
"That is interesting he mused aloud, but it can wait until the
morning."
"What can?" Lucinda probed.
"It doesn't matter," Harry said dismissively, grinning before scooping
her up in his arms.
Lucinda narrowed her eyes at him, but her curiosity all but vanished
as he pressed his lips against hers. Nothing else mattered more in
this moment than the feeling of having him back again.
Everything else could indeed wait until the morning.
Longshots
Longshots
"Not another one," Harry