Disclaimer: Yeah, no owning happening here.

AN: So, yes, I published this chapter shortly before 7 am under a strange compulsion to do so, but I was so intoxicated that I couldn't see straight, so I gave up on my final editing halfway through. However, I have briefly combed through it now that I'm sober (I think I am...I only slept 3 or 4 hours, so there's probably still alcohol in my system), and things look basically ok. So yay!


Chapter 3: Number 12 Grimmauld Place

:What the fuck are those?:

Harry glanced down at Khor, who was draped around his neck, unapologetically weighing down his shoulders. The python wasn't quite so big that Harry couldn't carry him...yet - but it was by no means a pleasant experience trudging up the rickety wooden stairs of Number 12 Grimmauld place with the extra weight prohibiting his movements.

:Ooh! I wanna know too!: Naya chirped from her place on his wrist. She, also, had a fair amount growing to do still, and was small enough to crawl up his sleeve.

Sirius and Dobby were currently setting the dining room table – which Dobby had beautifully repaired – with leftover Chinese take-out, and Harry was on his way to the topmost floor of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, where his new bedroom was. His trunk had already been enlarged and brought up by Kreacher and Dobby, along with the CD player, but Harry currently had his robes, broom, books, and snakes draping off of him at various points while he trudged up the stairs.

What had caught Khor and Naya's attention were the rows of plaques lining the walls, each one of them mounted with shrivelled up house-elf heads.

:Er...seems to be dead elves.:

:Who the bloody fuck would hang dead elves up?: Khor snapped, as though he didn't quite believe him.

Harry sighed. :Somebody with a bad sense of humour.:

And with that, Harry continued up the staircase, warily eyeing the dead house elves and the paintings which were, thank all that is holy, all asleep.

At the top of the flight of stairs, he found Kreacher lumbering through what appeared to be his bedroom door, duster in hand.

He stared up at Harry warily.

:This one's alive!: Naya said excitedly.

:But it still looks like the deformed spawn of a crow and a toad,: Khor put in flatly.

Harry glared half-heartedly at Khor. :He's an unfortunate soul. Don't treat him too poorly.;

:It doesn't matter how unfortunate his soul is – I'll still eat his ugly ass if he looks at me wrong.:

Harry sighed, and glanced down at Kreacher, who looked like he was about to faint.

"Are you alright, Kreacher?" he asked concernedly.

The elf's mouth moved a few times, but he failed to produce anything but faint rasping sounds.

Khor looked very amused by this.

"Kreacher?"

"The blood-traitor's godson, the boy who stopped the dark lord -"

They keep mentioning that, Tom commented, annoyed.

"- he speaks the noble tongue of serpents."

Harry smiled awkwardly. "I do. These are my two new friends. The big one is called Khor, and the small one is Naya. Naya's well-mannered enough, but you should probably stay away from Khor – he...has issues."

Kreacher just stared at him, dumbstruck.

"I take it you met Dobby?" Harry continued as he stepped toward the room, stopping short when he read the sign attached to the door.

Do Not Enter

Without the Express Permission of

Regulus Arcturus Black

Cautiously, he removed the sign from the door, seized suddenly by a brief but potent emotion that almost resembled guilt, oddly affected by trespassing in the dead man's room.

"I hope you two got on ok. He'll be living here as well."

"The boy who stopped the dark lord, the speaker to serpents, he speaks to Kreacher as though he is his friend..."

"I'd like it very much if we could be friends, Kreacher," Harry said earnestly, as he placed his things on his new bed. "Would you mind telling me how your day went?"

"Harry Potter claims he wants to be Kreacher's friend," the house elf said in wonderment, looking more than a little wary and suspicious.

"And I meant it, Kreacher." He turned to his new reptilian friends. :You two can explore the house, if you like. But don't eat anything that walks on two legs.:

:Bugger off.: Khor said grumpily as he slithered away.

:See ya Harry!:

Harry smiled at them fondly as they left, and then looked around the room. The walls were painted in what was obviously a very Slytherin green, and they were covered in newspaper clippings, yellowed and frayed; most were of Daily Prophet articles, but he noticed a few pieces from muggle newspapers as well. The room was fairly bare, with only a desk, chair and a couple of empty bookshelves populating it. The bed was surprisingly large, though, looking quite grand with the Black Family crest hanging overhead.

Tearing his eyes away from what he couldn't quite believe was his new home, he looked down at Kreacher again, and went to kneel down beside him.

The elf flinched, but didn't move.

"Now, I want you to listen to me, Kreacher. I know that you and Sirius...don't see eye to eye, so I think it's best if you stay clear of each other. If you need anything, come to me or Dobby. I understand that these years alone have been...hard on you, and I want to do anything I can to make the future more comfortable for you."

Kreacher was frozen, and his already watery eyes had grown damper. He had started muttering to himself, "Kreacher does not know, Kreacher does not know...spawn of filth, blood traitor and mudblood...but he speaks the noble tongue of serpents...came with Mistress's blood traitor son...scum...worthless filth...broke mistress's heart...but he stopped the dark lord, he did...what is the boy? How did he do it?" Kreacher was looking at him with an odd light in his eyes. "Met the dark lord...Kreacher did...so bright...so piercing...just like the boy's...the same eyes... so bright, so strange...but they are soft eyes...the boy is soft...son of blood traitor filth...mudblood...but he stopped the dark lord, he did...Kreacher wonders, Kreacher wonders...what would mistress say? What would dear mistress say?"

Harry stared at the pitiful creature, a heavy feeling filling up his chest. The poor thing had gone mad. Utterly and completely mad. He was immediately reminded of Diary-Tom, trapped and lonely without real human interaction for years on end. He shivered at the thought.

"Kreacher," he said softly, shaking himself out of the cold feeling that had settled over him. "Let's be friends, alright? Come on, let's go get some food."

Kreacher recoiled. "The boy says to come eat with the blood-traitor, shame of my mistress's flesh...filth...scum...Kreacher cannot, Kreacher cannot..."

Harry smiled sadly. "I understand, Kreacher. I'll send Dobby over with some food for you."

Kreacher stared at him for a long moment, before he slowly toddled away, muttering as he went.

As soon as he could no longer hear the elf's disgruntled ramblings, he rose to his feet, slowly casting his eyes laboriously around the room, observing every detail but taking in nothing. This was Regulus Black's room. Another Slytherin boy who had given his loyalty to Lord Voldemort...but this other boy had gone on to regret it, and had given up his loyalty to Tom at a terrible price; he had traded it for death. "I face death" - the words had remained in his mind, sitting there imposingly, pronounced in his own voice. What was running through his mind when he wrote those words? Was it a vain platitude of conviction? Or a genuine written acknowledgement of what he knew was to come?

He shook his head. He should be putting his things away, tidying up...

But it was then that he noted the smell of reheated Chinese fast food wafting into the cold bedroom, and decided he could organize his things later. He had had a serving of the greasy cuisine less than six hours ago, but he found it oddly...addictive, and was suddenly overwhelmed by the inexplicable compulsion to devour more. And so he began the long trek downstairs.

When he arrived in the dining room, Dobby and Sirius were waiting for him at the table, the former looking a little fidgety and the latter looking superbly bored.

"Master Harry has come to eat with us!" Dobby announced to Sirius.

"I can see that," Sirius said dryly.

Harry grinned at Dobby. "Do you like the food, Dobby?"

Dobby gasped. "Dobby would never begin eating before Master Harry arrives!"

Harry blinked. "Oh."

"So," he said to Dobby as he sat down, "How did the cleaning go?"

Dobby frowned. "Dobby did not finish sir, there was more to clean than Dobby could finish in six hours, sir."

Sirius snorted. "And I suppose Kreacher was useless?"

Dobby looked at him awkwardly. "Dobby would not say useless..."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Maybe it's time to just get rid of him – after all, we have Dobby now..."

"No!" Harry exclaimed urgently. "This is his home, Sirius! You can't just make him leave. That would be so cruel!"

"Harry," Sirius began delicately, "I don't know how to tell you this, but house-elves are meant for doing work, not shirking it."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know that. But maybe Kreacher just needs the right motivation."

"Motivation? What sort of motivation?"

"I'm working on it."

Sirius sighed, rolling his eyes, and Harry knew he had won. "Whatever you say, Harry."

Harry beamed at him.

"Anyhow," Sirius said, turning to Dobby, "You were saying, Dobby?"

"Oh yes, sir! Dobby has cleaned the kitchen an dining room, and has finished the dusting and removed all manner of ground-dwelling vermin from the house, sir. Dobby also located a nest of dead puffkseins, which he has removed, however...Dobby has found doxies."

Sirius quirked an eyebrow. "Not all that surprising. How many of them?"

"...many."

"Lovely."

"Dobby also believes he has found a boggart."

Harry grimaced, and Sirius sighed. "I'll take care of it after dinner."

Dobby nodded happily. "Other than the doxies and the boggart, Dobby has finished much of the cleaning, sirs, and if he works though the night, he might finish by tomorrow evening!"

Harry looked a bit alarmed at that. "Oh no, Dobby, don't do that – you need your sleep. You can work for a few hours every day – this doesn't need to be done right away."

Sirius made to object, but stopped when he saw the adoring look on Dobby's face.

"Oh, Master Harry is so kind, so thoughtful...Dobby is so grateful to have such a wonderful master."

Harry was beaming again.

"Excellent, Dobby. Thank you for everything."

Dobby beamed back at him, and Tom responded by exuding utter disdain and disgust at their behaviour. "Anything for Master Harry! And Master Sirius, of course, too!"

Sirius chuckled, clearly very amused at his admittedly strange godson and his even stranger elf.


After dinner, Harry asked Dobby to take the remaining leftovers down to Kreacher, and, of course, he happily obliged.

"Kreacher be needing all the help he can get," he had said sadly.

Harry had nodded to that. "Take care of him, Dobby, he needs us."

"Of course Master Harry!"

He then proceeded to make the long climb up to his new bedroom, and after replacing the sign on the door with one bearing his own name (and a few other choice words), began to unpack his things.

It was...a task. One that he'd never had the fortune (or maybe misfortune) of partaking in, considering that he had never bothered unpacking his trunk at Number 4 Privet Drive (because, well, it was the Dursleys' place, not his), nor at Hogwarts, where he was required to share a room with people he couldn't entirely trust. If he was being perfectly honest, he didn't quite know why he was bothering to unpack his things here, given that he didn't have an especially pertinent reason to do so...it just seemed fitting in a way. Maybe he had to prove to himself that this was his home now.

And with that in mind, he began to populate his bookshelf; he filled one shelf with his muggle books, along with Dummy and Hermione's mixed CDs, and on the next two shelves up he placed his growing collection of school texts. Another two shelves were dedicated to curses, charms, and warding, and the last two were reserved for theoretical texts like Ancient and Rare, A Structural Analysis of Magical Contracts, and his Handbook of Arithmancy. Billy the Baby Skull was placed on top of the bookshelf, along with Harry's new CD player.

Satisfied with his progress thus far, he turned to the second most important items in his possession: his meagre selection of clothing, his Hogwarts robes, and his new dress robes, which were placed in the wardrobe in the back corner of his room, along with his shoes. He hung his Firebolt proudly on the wall, and his homework, spare parchment, and writing supplies were all placed on his desk, everything else being shoved with his trunk under his bed. He decided to leave the newspaper clippings on the walls, because some of the articles were genuinely interesting, seeing as they were almost all about Tom.

It was a novel experience, not having to hoard and hide his treasured possessions; he felt some measure of glee as he placed them all proudly on display. Everything was exactly as he wanted it. For once.

After he'd sorted out his things, he and Dobby went hunting for someplace for Khor and Naya to go while in his room; they settled on a couple of old coat stands, which they set up in the corner nearest to his bed. He'd wanted to show them, but when he finally located them in the drawing room (which was now apparently boggart-free), he was unceremoniously told to 'fuck off' because they were hunting for doxies. Naya, however, had been more agreeable, and happily followed Harry up the stairs to get a look at her new home.

And it was after all that that Harry found himself lying on his bed reading Magick Moste Evile, enjoying the fact that he now had his own room that actually belong undebatably to him, with all his own things, in a house he actually liked, living with people who actually cared about him. It was...a good feeling, he decided. More than good. He felt better than he ever had, before – it wasn't pleasure or excitement; it was comfort and satisfaction.

But it was just as he was starting to relish in that comfort that he heard it – a sound he recognized as electric guitar, which didn't exactly sound horrible, but then came the shrieking:

"I'M BACK IN BLACK!
HIT THE SACK!
I'VE BEEN TO LONG
AND I'M GLAD TO BE BACK!"

Harry sighed. So that was AC/DC. Or Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd, but given Sirius's apparent love for the former, he was guessing that's what he chose to listen to first.

Get rid of it, Tom groused, and Harry was all too happy to oblige.

Bouncing off his very large and plush bed, Harry walked over to to Sirius's room, which was right across the hall.

The door was open, and the man seemed to be moving furniture around, given the chaotic state of the room. Harry stepped inside slowly, eyes catching on the walls, which were covered in Gryffindor banners and pictures of motorcycles and scantily clad women with obscenely large breasts.

Rolling his eyes, Harry called out, "Sirius!"

No answer, except

"YES I'M BACK,
WELL I'M BACK..."

"SIRIUS!"

The man spun around in surprise, and went over to turn the boombox down.

"Harry?"

Harry smiled weakly. "Would you mind turning it down just a little bit? I can try to cast a ward wandlessly, but even if I'm successful I don't think it will be strong enough to block out something this loud."

"You don't like it?" Sirius asked, looking heartbroken.

"I – um – uh -" Harry stammered guiltily.

But Sirius grinned a moment later. "Just kidding. It's an acquired taste – give it a few weeks."

Harry nodded, unconvinced.

"Anyway, I'll keep the volume down," Sirius agreed. "Feel free to shut the door behind you, and I'll put some of my own charms up."

Harry smiled stiffly. "Thanks!"

When he returned to his room, he did what he could to ward the door without a wand - and, to be completely honest, he utterly failed - and was pleased to find that between Sirius's charm work and his (lack thereof), the music was completely drowned out.

Smiling to himself, and blatantly ignoring his failure, he decided to go over to his own CD player and pop his new CD inside.

Must you? Tom complained. He had certainly been doing a lot of that today.

"Just for a little while," Harry assured him, as he bounced onto his bed and opened Magick Moste Evile up to Chapter 7, Derkest of Wards.

He smiled in amusement as his CD player began to fill the room with eerie broken guitar chords woven with darkly crooning synthesizers, followed soon by shivering percussion and a fragile, haunting voice.

"Inside your pretending,
Crimes have been swept aside,
Somewhere where they can forget..."

His mind wandered back to the teenagers he saw in passing on the television, up in their rooms listening to music with not a care in the world, and for the first time in his life, he could honestly say he felt like a kid. A normal, happy kid. And you know what? It wasn't so bad.

You're ridiculous.

"I know, Tom."


It didn't take long for them to fall into something of a routine. And Harry liked routines.

Dobby would make breakfast for Harry around 8 o'clock every morning; Sirius rarely joined him – the man usually didn't leave his bedroom before 10 – but they'd see each other for lunch and dinner every day at the very least.

After breakfast, Harry would go off and make his own idle entertainment; every morning he sat at his desk working on his spell crafting project and writing notes in his diary, occasionally scripting letters to his friends. He'd hear Sirius get up halfway through the morning and if he heard him yelling from the bathroom he knew he had to leave his room to break up an impending fight between Sirius and Khor, who sometimes liked to sleep in the bathtub.

After his daily shower, Sirius would usually...well, Harry didn't know what he did during the first few weeks besides tinkering with his motorcycle...which he would work on tirelessly for hours on end; he was determined to have it flying before Harry left for Hogwarts, so he spent a lot of time on that, but after he'd bought them a television (which had been placed in the drawing room, much to Kreacher's chagrin), he spent a lot of time in front of it too. He usually watched cartoons, but occasionally broadened his selections to more adult entertainment. No, not that, get your head out of the gutter. Grown up shows – you know, documentaries and dramas.

Harry didn't really touch the thing, but he did usually join him for Saturday and Sunday morning cartoons. Tom was incredibly annoyed, but Harry found them extremely amusing, so it was worth the dull headache that typically accompanied them. Muggles were lacking in many areas, to be sure, but certainly not in creativity.

"Come watch Loony Tunes with me!" Sirius had exclaimed at breakfast the Saturday after he bought the television.

"Loony what?" Harry had asked doubtfully.

"It's a show about cartoon animals blowing each other up! It's great!"

Mildly intrigued, Harry had followed him into the drawing room with a cup of orange pekoe tea, and had been hooked ever since.

Soon (meaning within the first two weeks) though, Sirius got a bit bored of the television as well, so he bought himself an electric guitar, and amplifier, which he was now learning to play. He wasn't particularly good, but let it never be said that the man wasn't determined. He was currently working on "Stairway to Heaven". Harry was able to follow the first few bars, but after that Sirius's playing devolved into something unrecognizable. It was a work in progress.

Among Sirius's other purchases was a (less expensive) broom for himself, and it was not uncommon for them to spend a couple of hours after lunch tossing a quaffle around in Number 12 Grimmauld Place's magically expanded backyard.

Other afternoons, Sirius would take him out for a ride on his motorcycle, which was...exhilarating, even if it didn't fly yet. Sirius nearly got arrested a few times for speeding and reckless driving, but as it turned out the man was indeed very skilled with his confundus charm - which Harry did eventually confirm was his favourite charm - so nothing ever came of it. Sirius assured him that their occasional motorcycle rides would be even more exciting once he he got it to fly. Suffice it to say, Harry was looking forward to this. Tom was not.

Anyway, usually their days were actually quite full; neither Harry nor Sirius dealt with boredom particularly well, and both of them put considerable work into ensuring that they were constantly occupied. They actually had a surprising amount in common.

They were very different people, of course – polar opposites, one might even say – but that didn't stop them from finding commonalities between them. Like their hatred of rodents - on particularly boring evenings, they'd have Dobby release some poor, helpless rats in the drawing room so they could watch Khor an Naya brutally hunt, murder, and devour them with an unnerving measure of glee - or their mutual love of obscure and creative hexes and jinxes. Sirius wasn't a dark wizard, but his appreciation for mischief afforded many intersections with Harry's fascination with the dark arts. They could talk for hours on end, about nothing in particular – secret passages in Hogwarts, the contents of the Restricted Section, muggle London, the weather, potential holiday plans, the Marauders, Sirius's time at Hogwarts...

And even though he usually wouldn't see Sirius until they met up for lunch every day, Harry didn't think he'd ever grow tired of ambling down to the quiet dining room to find Dobby serving lunch and Sirius waiting with a happy but inappropriate 'good morning!'

However, living with Sirius had started off confusing, and to be honest, for the first week, Harry didn't know what to expect. Never before had he had a place to call home in which he wasn't required to do any work, or listen to anyone. But Sirius never told him what to do. He suggested things, begged for things, and sometimes grabbed Harry's wrist and dragged him over to come see things, but he never actually handed out orders. Now, Tom was the only one Harry was taking orders from. Which was honestly a blessing, considering that Tom was always telling him what to do, and having another adult breathing down his neck would have been a bit much.

And speaking of Tom, he was starting to get annoyed. They'd found the library – right across from the drawing room – and the dark arts books, but they were unable to remove them from the shelves. Tom had concluded that they were spelled to remain stuck there unless a password was uttered. Harry had tried asking Kreacher, but had little luck.

"The boy who stopped the dark lord wants mistress's precious books...what should Kreacher do...can't risk it, can't risk it...mistress's precious books...precious..."

He was also reluctant to ask about the locket while Sirius was around, given how disastrous the consequences of Sirius overhearing them might be, so that was delayed until he left to buy his television.

Sirius had asked him to come along, but he'd declined, citing his desire to finish reading the letters he was looking through. He'd finished reading everything Remus gave to him ages ago, of course, but he was currently combing through every letter his mother had sent to Remus in an attempt to piece together everything he could about what his mother's thesis project, book, and top-secret research for Professor Dumbledore had been about. So far he'd discerned that her thesis had ended up being about something she called the 'theory of inverses'. She was technically doing her mastery in Charms, but it was evident that she had branched out into general magical theory, and was trying to find substantial links between light and dark magic. The book she was writing was a compendium of emotion-based light magic from traditions outside of western Europe, and her top-secret project...well, that was still unclear. Probably because it was supposed to be top-secret.

Anyway, Harry waited a few minutes after Sirius left, just to make sure the man wasn't coming back, but as soon as it appeared to be safe, he called Kreacher to him.

"Kreacher!"

It took a moment, but the house-elf popped into the room obediently, though evidently begrudgingly, reflexively bowing when he saw Harry.

"The master's godson has called Kreacher," he mumbled.

Harry knelt down, causing the elf to flinch.

Kreacher was still wary of Harry, but seemed to have realized that Harry wasn't going to hurt him at the very least, and had warmed up to him a little bit; the elf no longer insulted him under his breath - at least in his presence - and reluctantly and haphazardly followed Harry's orders even though he was not strictly required to. Harry couldn't say he was satisfied with the progress, but it was certainly something.

"Kreacher," he began delicately, "There's something very important I need to speak with you about. Do you have time now?"

Kreacher just looked at him blankly.

Harry sighed. "I want you to listen to me very carefully, and not repeat anything I tell you, ever again."

Kreacher was starting to look uneasy now, no doubt sensing that this wasn't one of Harry's typical schemes to instigate a friendly conversation.

'Your previous master, Regulus...I know how how he died." He figured it was best to take the plunge.

Kreacher's eyes widened, then, stunned, and his bottom lip began to tremble.

"He died in a cave, right? Retrieving a necklace, a very special locket, which Lord Voldemort hid. Do you remember it?"

The elf's eyes went even wider, and he started to shake all over, beginning to hyperventilate.

"Kreacher remembers. K-Kreacher failed – failed," the elf croaked out in barely more than a whisper, the words falling out of his mouth as though he couldn't help himself, "Master Regulus...Kreacher failed – Master Regulus!"

The elf began sobbing wretchedly - leaving Harry feeling quite taken aback by the ferocity of the usually monotone elf's expression - but it was nothing like when Dobby sobbed...it was heart-wrenching, filled with shame and self-loathing.

"K-Kreacher tried everything – everything – so many spells – Master Regulus ordered Kreacher – destroy the locket, he said – but Kreacher could not – Kreacher f-f-f-failed Master Regulus!"

Harry had frozen, and he felt his limbs slowly growing stiff. He was suddenly and uneasily reminded of his own failures, and before he knew it, tears had begun gathering in the corners of his eyes as empathy rose up inside him, swelling like a tidal wave. He understood the pain of failure, the agony of letting down someone you love.

This is ridiculous. Ask it where it put it, Tom hissed impatiently.

"Kreacher," Harry said hoarsely, "I am so, so sorry...it must have hurt you so much, failing to fulfill Regulus's orders..."

Harry...

The elf continued to sob.

"Kreacher, I want you to listen to me – I can help you destroy it."

Kreacher froze.

"Find the locket for me, and I will help you destroy it. Elf magic cannot destroy it – but wizard magic can. I can find a way to destroy it. Then you will not have failed Master Regulus. Then you can rest assured that you fulfilled your duty, because you are a good elf, Kreacher, you really are."

Kreacher's lip was still trembling, and he was looking at Harry with unmistakable hope in his eyes.

"Harry Potter...the boy who stopped the dark lord...would help Kreacher carry out Master Regulus's orders? Harry Potter would help Kreacher destroy the locket?"

Harry nodded, his movements a little jerky. "I promise you, Kreacher, I promise. I just need to see it. I need to know where it is. Can you show it to me?"

Kreacher hesitated, but eventually nodded, and started to waddle away.

He eventually lead Harry into the drawing room, and too a glass cabinet beside one of the sofas.

"Kreacher placed it here for safe keeping," Kreacher croaked out, "When Kreacher failed to carry out his orders."

Slowly, Harry opened the cabinet door, and there it was – gleaming and garish, a large S carved out with precious gems. Gasping, he reached out and touched it, relishing at the feel of Tom's magic licking at his skin.

Relief and pleasure flooded through his mind, and he instantly knew that Tom was as close as he was ever going to get to being happy.

"What now?" he whispered.

There was a moment of silence.

Leave it there. The elf will protect it.

Harry nodded, and went to kneel down beside Kreacher, who didn't flinch, too caught up in staring at Harry unblinkingly.

"Thank you, Kreacher," he breathed out, still overcome by Tom's reaction to finding his horcrux, "You have been a very good elf – you've carried out Regulus's orders. You've done so well."

The elf coughed out another sob. He was still shaking.

"I swear to you, Kreacher, I will find a way to destroy the locket. All I need you to do protect it. Don't let anyone take it away, keep it here – and I will destroy it for you. You have not failed Master Regulus. You will not fail him."

The elf gasped, and a look of pained elation entered his eyes, as tears continued to roll down his cheeks. "Master...the master is so kind, so good," he whispered raspily, wringing his hands, "To help Kreacher...he says that Kreacher has not f-failed...Kreacher is..."

Harry smiled sadly. "It's ok, Kreacher. That's what friends do for each other – help each other. We're friends, right, Kreacher?"

The elf nodded wordlessly, still shaking, holding in sobs.

"Then you'll call me Master Harry from now on, Kreacher? Because we're friends?" Harry asked hopefully.

Kreacher nodded, looking him in the eye with adoration.

Sirius returned soon after, and found Harry down in the kitchen, enjoying a cup of tea with Kreacher and Dobby.

He looked like he very much wanted to say something about the scene he had stumbled upon, but in the end decided against it, shaking his head and walking away.


It was when Sirius left to buy his electric guitar that Harry got around to attaining the ever elusive dark arts books. Soon after their conversation about the locket, Kreacher admitted that he didn't know how to get the books off the shelves, and explained that there was only one person who would know the password – Walburga Black. This made Harry very unhappy, because Walburga Black was a problem.

He didn't understand her. Not in the slightest. People often did puzzling things which were inexplicable from the standpoint of any reasonable other, but usually their words and actions didn't actively contradict common sense to an alarming degree. Harry was pretty sure the late Mrs. Black was miserable - she had to be, trapped in that painting, constantly silenced, deprived of external stimuli, and mad as an intoxicated squirrel. Again, he was uncomfortably reminded of Diary-Tom - of being trapped for eternity in a black, silent prison. It was horrifying. And yet, she did everything in her power to make it happen. She did everything she could to insult and alienate her only living family and ensure that she would endure sensory deprivation for the remainder of her very long life. She was a Slytherin who actively fought against her own self-interest. And Harry didn't know how to deal with that. Tom's lessons and his own personal experiences hadn't come even close to covering this. He was completely in the dark. And thus without a strategy to get what he wanted from this very strange and mysterious woman.

So it was with great trepidation that Harry approached Mrs. Black's portrait after Sirius left, and it was with great courage worthy of a Gryffindor that Harry sheepishly slid the curtains open.

Immediately, the woman opened her mouth to start screaming, but froze when she saw Harry.

"You," she said venomously as soon as she got over her shock.

"Me?" he responded timidly, not sure what else to say to what was clearly some kind of accusation.

"Child of filth! Son of the abomination! Scum! You dare sully the house of my forefathers!"

"Please," Harry said quickly, "I just wanted to talk to you!"

The woman froze.

"Where has he gone?" the she spat out.

"He's...gone to buy something," Harry said cautiously, "And I...was hoping we might be able to become better acquainted with each other."

The woman glowered at him. "And why would I want to be acquainted the spawn of a blood-traitor and a mudblood?" she hissed.

"Well," Harry said slowly, considering this, "I live here now...with you. And I think it's preferable to be on good terms with the people you live with."

"I will never be on good terms with an abomination like you," Mrs. Black spat, evidently offended.

Harry tried to smile benignly. "I realize that associating with me isn't preferable to you, but I believe we should at least be cordial with one another - after all, despite the differences in our blood, we might not be so different as to make our interests irreconcilable."

"And tell me, boy, what I could possibly have in common with something like you."

"Well, books, for instance. I saw your library upstairs. It's quite lovely."

"Hah!" the woman crowed viciously, "You conniving little miscreant! If you'd been in that library you would know it is filled to the brim with Dark Arts tomes!"

Harry nodded avidly, choosing to ignore the 'conniving miscreant' part. Honestly, this was going much better than he thought it would. "Yes, exactly! Your selection is far superior to the Restricted Section at Hogwarts!"

The woman was staring at him with a deliberately impassive look on her face, but Harry could tell that she couldn't help but be a little flattered.

"It really is a shame," he lamented, "That all the books are stuck to the shelves. Kreacher mentioned that there's a password. You wouldn't happen to know it, would you?"

Apparently he had made the transition too abruptly, though, because the woman's eyes lit up once again.

"And why would I tell a mudblood-loving blood-traitor how to access the precious tomes of the House of Black?" she said furiously, "To throw them out, to rip them up! Burn them!"

"Please, Mrs. Black," Harry said with some desperation in his voice, "Of course I don't want to throw them away! I want to read them!"

"You don't fool me, boy. No Gryffindor would read those books!"

"But I'm not a Gryffindor," Harry said with genuine confusion, "I'm in Slytherin."

The woman froze again. "What?"

"I was sorted into Slytherin," Harry said carefully, "But that's got nothing to do with this. I'd just like to do some extra reading. As I mentioned, you have books here that even the restricted section at Hogwarts doesn't have. This is an incredibly opportunity, to be able to learn from all the knowledge your family has accumulated over the centuries," he explained.

Mrs. Black's eyes narrowed. "And what exactly do you want to read?"

"There's a book called Magicks of the Sowle," Harry said immediately, "I've never seen anything like it...not even at Borgin and Burkes," he threw in.

"You...have been to Borgin and Burkes," the woman stated doubtfully.

Harry nodded. "That's where I got my copy of Magick Moste Evile," he put in casually.

Her eyes narrowed further. "How naughty. Your godfather," she spat out the word as though it was something vile, "Would not approve," she said mockingly.

"Do you really care?" Harry asked, puzzled.

The woman smirked a little. "Name me five curses out of Magick Moste Evile."

"Anathema purgo, evoco pavor, excorio, interfodio, venter favor," he rattled off immediately.

She paused, black eyes drilling into him mercilessly. "You practice the dark arts, boy?"

"Fervently," Harry said resolutely.

Another long pause.

"If only to spite my worthless son...Tojours Pur."

Harry nearly banged his head on the wall. Of course it was. Instead he settled on gushing, "Thank you so much Mrs. Black! I promise, I won't let anything happen to them! I swear it! Thank you thank you thank you so much!"

Harry could swear the woman was looking amused now.

"Thank you!" he shouted again, before he ran up the stairs, eager to move as many dark arts books to his room as he could before Sirius returned.

While he was sifting through books in the Black library, it kept occurring to him that he had forgotten something, but it didn't become evident until Sirius returned.

"SCUM! FILTH! BLOOD-TRAITOR! SHAME OF MY FLESH! YOU DARE BRING THAT MUGGLE FILTH INTO THE HOUSE OF MY FOREFATHERS!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU MISERABLE OLD HAG!"

Harry sighed. He'd forgotten to close the curtains.

"AAARGGGHHHH!"


The room was only dimly lit, the air thick with must and mildew.

"Where is Nagini?"

"I don't know, My Lord..."

The scene was plunged into darkness.

"...The journey has tired me greatly..."

".My Lord, may I ask how long are we going to stay here?"

"...It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over..."

He could see again. A fire crackled in the corner, casting shivering shadows on the weathered wooden floor and the old furniture. The image flickered with the firelight.

"...It could be done without Harry Potter, My Lord..."

There were two voices, two men, both obscured by a droning static.

"...I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. Silence!"

One voice was whimpering and quivering, the other cold, high, and commanding – barely human, made even less so by the ever-present distortion.

"...Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Harry Potter -"

All was once again plunged into darkness.

"- is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined us..."

",..I am a faithful servant..."

The quivering voice was alien, unfamiliar, and ugly in his ears, but the other...

"...Ah, Wormtail, you don't want me to spoil the surprise..."

It was straight out of a nightmare; no, a memory – it was a harbinger of death and fear and failure.

"...But I am not a man, muggle. I am much, much more..."

No, it was not the voice of a man. Something stranger; something far worse than a man could every become.

The static grew louder, and louder - and then, suddenly, all fell silent and black.

Then he saw it, as though peering through a keyhole, barely there.

"...Wormtail, come turn my chair around..."

The images were alien, unsolidified in his mind. All he knew was that it - all of it - reeked of evil and death.

"Avada Kedavra."

Harry's eyes snapped open and he bolted upright in his bed, breathing heavily as his scar throbbed.

What was that? When was that?

:Bad dream,: Harry hissed on reflex.

I know. I saw it as well.

Harry froze.

"What?" he whispered weakly. "Then it was..."

There was a pause. That was...not mine. I have no recollection of such an event.

Harry's eyes widened as he shivered. If Tom had no memory of it, then perhaps it wasn't a dream, nor a memory; perhaps it was something else.

The quivering man – he was called Wormtail, so...Peter Pettigrew? And the other man...it was Lord Voldemort; shamefully weak and desperate, but definitely Lord Voldemort – there was no doubt in his mind. Perhaps it was a memory from before, when Pettigrew served Lord Voldemort...but no...Voldemort was powerful and imposing during the time when Pettigrew served him, not some subhuman creature unable to feed and care for itself – and besides, if Tom did not remember...

Then maybe...had Pettigrew gone back to his old master? Maybe - he shuddered at the thought - it was something that happened recently, in the last 9 months since Pettigrew escaped...

When was that?

They mentioned him...using him to do something...and they also mentioned – what was it? Ah, the Quidditch World Cup...which was in a few weeks.

Harry suddenly felt very cold, and his stomach squirmed. Maybe it wasn't a memory at all; maybe it was a vision, of something happening right now.

"Tom, is it possibly that I was seeing..."

The present? The Lord Voldemort of here and now?

Harry nodded.

That seems a...plausible explanation...

Tom sounded uneasy, leaving Harry feeling cold and disturbed.

"Then...Pettigrew is with your master soul, and they're planning something..."

Something that involves you.

Harry nodded shakily. "So that means if everything goes to plan, I will -"

We will -

"- end up..."

Dead.

Harry shivered. "We can't...we can't let this happen, Tom."

No, no we cannot.

"What do we do?" Harry whispered, trying not to sound too hysterical.

We must prevent my master soul and Wormtail from working together. It is likely that they have two goals – the first priority will be to secure a stable body for my master soul and the second will be to see you dead. We obviously cannot allow either outcome.

"But how do we prevent them from working together?"

We will need to locate them.

"We've got nothing to go on, though – I only got glimpses of the room they were in, and I was barely able to retain what was there – we have no way of knowing where they are."

The information we can glean from your vision is admittedly sparse...but I believe that I know the reason for this.

"Which is...?"

Your occlumency shields. They will prevent our minds from forming a strong enough connection to give us anything useful.

"I...don't even know how to lower my occlumency shields while I sleep anymore," Harry admitted, a little embarrassed.

That we can work on.

"Fine, but what do we do once we find them? We can just kill Pettigrew, right?"

Tom chuckled. You sound quite eager.

"I'd...prefer it if he were dead," Harry admitted sheepishly.

He is an unnecessary liability. On that we can agree.

"So...we find them, I stun Pettigrew wandlessly and then...I don't know, stab him?"

Harry could feel Tom's amusement. Or slit his throat.

"Or that. But then what do we do with your master soul and his, er, body-ish thing he has going on?"

Tom was silent for a moment. From what we witnessed I have concluded that it is unlikely that that body would survive without Wormtail's assistance. So we might as well destroy the body. It will mean my master soul escaping – which means that we will have to locate him again eventually – but we have neither the time nor resources to keep him alive ourselves.

"He's capable of casting the killing curse," Harry pointed out.

But he is weak, and you will be faster. With the correct timing I believe you will be able to dispose of them both. If not, we will have my wand on hand and I can take care of whatever you cannot.

Harry nodded slowly. "Ok...ok, that seems reasonable. So we just need to find them."

We will work on this tomorrow. For now, it is best that you sleep while you can. If we are successful, the next few nights will not be restful for you.

Harry nodded again, and lay back in his bed and closed his eyes...but to no avail. A half hour later, he had still not fallen asleep; his mind kept playing the dream through his head, over and over again, like a broken record.

"Avada Kedavra."

"Avada Kedavra."

"Avada Kedavra."

Sighing, he rose to his feet and quietly left the room, opening his palm and whispering, "Lumos."

He wandered around the house for a while, not really knowing what to do. He felt...strange. Violated. His dreams had been invaded by thoughts and experiences that weren't his...or Tom's. And it left him uneasy, anxious. He knew that he wouldn't be able to get anything done, so he didn't bother trying; instead, he looked around listlessly, idly ambling down the stairs, until he came to the library. Perhaps a book might help him sleep?

Absently, he perused the titles on the worn, stained oak shelves, looking for some light reading – something fascinating enough to distract him, but mundane enough that he might fall asleep reading it.

Eventually, one title caught his eye, The Tales of Beedle the Bard. It was an inconspicuous looking book, clearly a collection of stories or fables, but that was not what caught his eye. What caught his eye was the fact that this anthology of the tales told by some old bard was not buried amidst the shelves of the Black Family library dedicated to fiction and poetry; no, this was right beside Genealogies of Olde Britain.

Curiously, Harry removed the book from the shelf and sat down on the small cushioned chair in the corner, flipping through the pages absently, crossing paths with tales with titles like "The Wizard and the Hopping Pot" or "Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump" - but he froze when he saw something very familiar. He had landed on a story near the end, bearing the name "The Tale of the Three Brothers." The name was innocuous enough; no, it was not the name that interested him – it was the symbol etched into the corner of the first page. It was a triangle surrounding a circle, divided in two by one black line. Where had he seen that? Where -?

He glanced down at his right hand, where the Gaunt Family ring sat on his middle finger, invisible and insubstantial to everyone but him. He held it up to his face and peered at it closely; and sure enough, etched into the black stone, was the same symbol.

Harry frowned. "Do you know what that is?" he asked curiously.

No, I have never seen it anywhere else, Tom said in a voice that clearly indicated that he was idly indulging Harry, and that the question was of no consequence.

But Harry wasn't so sure. There was something, something deep within him, that told him...that these were more than a few idle scratches on a page.

"Huh," Harry said thoughtfully, and began to read, dream forgotten.

'There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight...'


And the plot thickens! Tell me what you think in a verbose review that I will read every word of!