The legendary Chamber of Secrets didn't seem quite so legendary from the outside entryway of the girl's lavatory. For one, the faucets were all leaking terribly, and, as a consequence of the poor state of the pipes, the floor beneath his feet was crusted with grime and dirt. There also happened to be a rather annoying ghost hovering over the washing fountain, screeching about him trespassing in her bathroom.
He had heard of a Moaning Myrtle that lived in the stalls, but Harry really hadn't been paying attention. He regretted it now, because Myrtle seemed intent on diverting him from entering the Chamber, and he had no idea how to banish a ghost. He thought, briefly, of shooting her, but reasoned that it would only be a waste of a bullet.
"I know I'm not supposed to be here - "
"The headmaster told me to keep everyone out! You have to leave!"
Harry rubbed his temples, glaring up at her. "I just need to get to the goddamn sink," he said, his teeth gritted harshly.
"That's where the headmaster said no one should go!"
"Stop yelling!"
She screeched, and began to work herself into a raging froth. Harry rolled his eyes.
"I'll kill you a second time if you don't shut the fuck up and move out of the way!" he threatened, when he had finally had enough.
"I'll tell the headmaster! I will!"
He could honestly say he didn't give a fuck what she told the headmaster, and he told her his thoughts on that. Myrtle's eyes widened, and she let out a bellow of grief before she took herself down the closest toilet stall.
Glad to see her gone, though a bit disgusted at her method of departure, he edged closer to the washing fountain and hissed at it. The sink rumbled open, and below him was a long dark tunnel that presumably lead to the Chamber of Secrets. Warily, he grabbed a coin out of his pocket and flipped it into the darkness. The sound of metal hitting stone came not five seconds later, and the sound of it sliding to the very bottom told him it wasn't a drop to his death. It would hurt though.
Apparently, this Salazar Slytherin bloke got his jollies off of making the entrance as uncomfortable as possible. Sighing, he swiftly lowered himself into the hole, taking a slight breath before letting go of the pipes. He fell, at first, like a led balloon, and then the less than gentle slide caught him and took him down in one quick, disgusting scoop. He was pretty sure there was slime where slime should never be.
He grimaced when he felt his descent narrow and straighten, and then he prepared to catch his fall. It was a lucky thing he had thought ahead, because the ride ended in a pile of bones and grime. He levitated himself down slowly, until the bones crunched underneath his feet, and took a look at the state of his clothes. Casting a thorough cleaning spell, he sneered at the floor of the Chamber as he brushed himself off.
"You're violating serious health codes, Dumbledore," he muttered. Ahead was a dark looking passageway and beyond that, a giant dead snake. He sighed. "Let's get this over with," he said to no one.
.o00o.
He emerged from the Chamber around lunchtime and, feeling triumphant, suddenly fancied sharing a meal with the Gryffindor students. He'd avoided the Great Hall for a while, and was sure Ron and Ginny were a bit angry at him. He kept his head down, as he walked, the vial of Basilisk venom secure in the pocket of his coat.
He was tired.
It had been a long few days, draining in every way, and he wondered how many long days were ahead of him. It wasn't the planning, his usual schedule hadn't changed, just one thing was different.
Harry sort of had...a boyfriend. They hadn't said so, and they weren't dating or anything, but they'd been having a lot of sex and they were talking afterward, and Francis had done the same and he had definitely been his 'boyfriend'...
They still argued, of course. Most of the time Draco hated him. He'd push and then Harry would push back and they'd switch back and forth who was in control. It was a constant battle with Draco. Harry liked that.
But a few days of on and off sex mixed with consistent squabbling did not a relationship make. Harry was getting ahead of himself. Just how attached was he to the blond?
Harry was sure he wasn't dependent upon him for anything, because he was rarely dependent upon anyone.
He knew that he didn't love Draco, and that Draco didn't love him. It didn't matter anyway, because love was silly. He wasn't sure it even existed, and he didn't see the point of it anyway, when people up and died all the time. When people left for better things. How could people love when everyone was inherently selfish?
As much as he didn't understand it, Harry did know that there were those he would miss if they were gone. Was that love? Would he miss Draco if he died? What the fuck did it matter anyway?
He had reached the Great Hall, and his questions would have to wait, it seemed, because he was tired, and all he wanted was a warm meal and, possibly, a comfortable bed. Harry took a breath and entered, ignoring the eyes following him, and the cool grey stare of the object of his thoughts. Ron and Ginny brightened when they noticed him approaching, and he couldn't help but smile back.
"Where you been, mate?" Ron said, his mouth full and his eyes relieved. "You were supposed to sit in on Snape's Potions lesson this morning."
Harry slapped a hand to his forehead. Snape had mentioned that Dumbledore had requested he sit in on Potions! He had totally forgotten. He glanced up at Snape then, only to see him glowering down at their group. If looks could kill, Harry thought wryly, knowing he would pay for his truancy later.
"I'm dead, aren't I?" he said to Ron as he sat down. Ginny scooted over to join them, nearly displacing Hermione from her seat. The bushy-haired witch glared.
"You're close to it," Ginny grinned laughingly. "Where've you been, anyway?"
Harry shuffled food onto his plate and shrugged one shoulder. "I had some people to visit," he told her. "Snape could have reminded me. I talked to him when I got back. Dumbledore should have said something, too, since I spoke with him as well."
Hermione's head popped out from over Ginny's shoulder, and she was scowling at him. "Just because you're forgetful doesn't mean everyone has to remind you of things!" she snapped. "The entire world doesn't revolve around you, you know."
Ron scowled at her on Harry's behalf. Harry groaned. "Leave off for once, will you?"
Her face went red and Ginny smothered a giggle with her hand. Ron took that as his cue to change to subject. "Mum sent me a letter. Surprised it wasn't a Howler, actually. She wants to know when you'll be visiting," he informed them as he chewed.
"I suppose when we have another Order meeting," Harry said with another shrug. "Or when I get invited to one, anyway."
"How do you know they haven't invited you?" Hermione added crossly, her eyes snapping to a thrown sprout that landed on the Ravenclaw table. When she couldn't spot the criminal sprout-thrower, she turned back to Harry and sneered. "You've been gone so much, they probably couldn't tell you about the meeting. How you're able to come and go without so much as a by-your-leave is a mystery to me."
Harry nodded absently, watching another sprout get tossed with a slight frown. "You may be right, Hermione," he said sarcastically. "You may be right."
As she hopped up from her seat to reprimand the students, as prefects were apparently supposed to do, Harry turned to Ron and gave him a look. "Your girlfriend, Ron, seriously?" he warned casually.
Ginny sniggered. "It's not Hermione's fault that she's like that. She used to be worse before Ron and I became friends with her," she told him, crossing her arms on the table.
"Is that even bloody possible?"
Ron dipped his head sagely and stuffed another pork chop in his mouth. "Hermione didn't have any friends in first or second year, but then the Chamber of Secrets happened," Ginny continued.
"Oh yeah?" he asked, suddenly interested. "I heard someone was possessed that year," he mentioned idly.
"Possessed?" Ron spoke up, wiping his mouth. "I didn't hear anything about that, Chrissie, who've you been talking to?"
Ginny frowned. "The Chamber was opened and there was a Basilisk petrifying the students. Hermione figured out where the entrance was and was taken hostage by the heir of Slytherin. Dumbledore saved her."
So the Granger girl had dealt with Tom Riddle's diary, Harry thought quickly.
"She was so sad and lonely after that," Ginny sympathized, tearing a bread roll in half. "Ron was a gentleman, and he started doing homework with her."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Ron does homework? I thought he couldn't read?"
Before he could throw a sprout at him, since, it seemed, that was the new trend, a green bean hit Ron square in the face just as Hermione rounded on the second year that had thrown it and furiously took points away. Harry couldn't help but laugh at his best friend's expense.
"You say she's been better since then?" he asked when the ruckus had died down, his eyes on Hermione.
"She's quieter," Ron grunted.
Ginny huffed at him. "She's more mature and less hurt by people, I think," she explained. "She's usually tolerable. She just doesn't like you."
Harry chuckled wryly. "I think I noticed that, thanks," he said, turning back to Ron. "Well, mate? Why does your girlfriend hate me?"
"She doesn't hate you," he mumbled, before shaking his head. "She just thinks you're a criminal," he said.
"That's not all of it, Ron," Ginny corrected him, rather frustrated. "She doesn't trust a lot of people, you see." She leaned forward and suddenly looked sad. "Ever since the incident she's been keeping to herself. Now you come in and she has to accept you because you're Ron's best mate and practically my older brother. She isn't taking to it well."
Scratching his neck, Harry nodded absently. They abruptly changed the subject when Hermione came back over to them. Harry finished up his plate, mopping up the roast's sauce with his bread, as they talked over him.
The Horcrux had messed with Hermione Granger badly, it seemed. He watched her carefully. She wasn't very well-adjusted, Harry wasn't all that surprised to see. He wasn't sympathetic either. The past was the past, after all, and she was old enough now to put it behind her. Harry didn't think people should carry their baggage around, letting it weigh them down and muddle everything. If she couldn't get past it on sheer willpower, at least Ginny and Ron were there, he thought idly. The Weasleys were good people, and they would help.
He felt bad having not visited Molly and Arthur for a while.
"This summer," he said suddenly, interrupting Ron and Ginny. "I'll visit this summer. I miss your mum too."
Ginny grinned at him. "We miss you over there," she said. "Fred and George have asked about you too, and so has Charlie."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Haven't seen Charlie in ages."
"He's seen your picture in the paper," Ron mumbled, looking completely downtrodden when the food disappeared. Harry smiled softly at him.
"I've a picture in the paper?" he asked.
Ginny nodded, packing up her book bag for the next class. "Ever since you got here you've been all over the Daily Prophet," she explained, looking mischievous. "It's no wonder Charlie wanted to see you again."
Ron sputtered. "What's that supposed to mean? Why's Charlie got to go after him?" he demanded to know.
His sister sneered at him and gave Harry a look. "Do you have something against your brother, Ron?" she asked chidingly, getting up.
"No!" he denied, almost too quickly. "It's just he's gone through nearly every bloke on the reserve, and you'd think he'd...I dunno, pace himself!"
"Hmm…" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like my kind of guy, actually."
Ron glared at him. "You'll break Charlie's heart," he said finally. "Stay away from him."
Harry laughed, rising with them and following as they toddled to their next class. Hermione caught up about halfway down the hall and was silent as they joked about harmlessly. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw her eyes harden and her teeth shred at her bottom lip. He scoffed internally and separated from them at the fork to the dungeons and his rooms. The bed waiting for him sounded so lovely,
and he was full and in such a pleasant mood...
Unfortunately, there was someone occupying his rooms when he finally got inside. Bo swiveled his head around to greet him, and though Harry longed for sleep, he couldn't help but hug Bo warmly. "How are you, my dear?"
Bo didn't answer right away, but he did curve his body around Harry's and sigh in obvious contentment. "I'm well, human father," he rumbled. "Griphook wants to speak with you."
Harry laid his head on Bo's cool scales. "I could sleep right here," he murmured.
"You seem tired, you fly too much," Bo commented, purring now.
"Yeah. Maybe I do. Did Griphook say what the matter was?"
Bo snuffled and shook his massive head. "Griphook doesn't talk to us much anymore. He did say that he had a surprise for you. Something about a cup in someone's vault and a soul, or something. Humans and Goblins are a lot alike, I suspect, because you both say unimportant things in riddles that don't make any sense to dragons!"
"A soul, eh?" Harry perked up, getting a second wind. He climbed out of Bo's hold and grabbed up his gun and pack of cigarettes. "That sounds pretty important to me, love."
His phone went off.
Bo looked around for the source of the ringing, and Harry flipped his phone open to see a message from Frankie: Denny wants to talk. What do I do?
Harry breathed in and let out a huge sigh. It looked like he wouldn't be sleeping tonight. As he rounded a reluctant Bo up and touched the pendant, he flashed a longing look at his bed before the Portkey whisked them away.
.o00o.
Griphook did not give him even a moment to gather himself. He pounced on Henry immediately and demanded the venom, the diadem, the locket, and the container, which Henry gave over with a short glare. Griphook told them he would be back and disappeared, leaving Henry with Bo and Tenebres.
"Well, human drake," Ten said cheerfully. "I don't think I've ever seen you in my lair so much! What are you and the Gold Dealer up to?"
Henry lifted a shoulder, looking sheepish. "Just a little project, Ten. Griphook's an excellent metalworker, did you know?" he mentioned kindly.
Bo rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows that Goblins are the best with metals. Dragon father knew," he chastised. "Even I knew."
Puzzled, Henry gestured to Bo and looked to Ten for an answer. "It is time for Bo to grow up!" Ten explained proudly. "His disagreeable attitude means our little Bo is on his way to becoming a fully grown dragon!"
"I am not disagreeable!"
"You mean like puberty?" Henry asked, amused as he turned back to Bo. "Going to go after a girl dragon now, dearest? Woo her with your ability to eat an entire herd of sheep?"
"That just means I'm a good hunter!" Bo protested. "And besides, why can't I like a male dragon and not a female dragon? You like the male ones!"
Henry choked on a laugh. "Is he even capable of getting with a male dragon?" he questioned Ten quietly as Bo continued to lecture them on just who was the most disagreeable.
Ten blinked. "He doesn't understand the concept, no," Ten informed him, his bemused eyes on Bo. "His instincts are different than yours, and he won't be mating with any males. With his size, they'd likely tear him to pieces if he tried. Poor Bo."
"—so I can be a gay dragon if I want to," Bo finished, snorting at them.
"Don't you want to have drakes, Bo?" Henry asked, trying very hard not to laugh.
Bo straightened up at that and put on an imperious sort of pout. "Of course I do, human father! My male dragon and I will have our drakes! They will be the best drakes there ever were!"
Henry couldn't help it, he lost it completely. "What's so funny?" Bo asked, insulted. "What? What!"
Ten nuzzled Bo chidingly. "Two male dragons cannot have drakes, Bo; it isn't the way of things," Ten told him.
"Well, why not? What's the difference, anyway?"
Henry looked at Ten with wide eyes. "You haven't explained it to him yet? He's going through puberty! What if he hurts himself?"
"You're his father as well," Ten huffed defensively. "Why did you not explain it to him?"
"I'm not a bloody dragon! How would I know where you stick it?"
Griphook cleared his throat from behind them, and Henry spun around. "Is it done?" he asked the goblin, glad to not have to continue the conversation between Bo and Ten.
"It's done," Griphook told him, handing the container back. "All that is left is your own, and, of course, the snake."
Henry blinked. "We're sure it's Nagini now?" he queried, surprised.
"We have had a visit from the snake," Griphook said, showing teeth. "She was with a client while they deposited something very interesting into their vault. The Elders all agreed that the snake known as Nagini is a Horcrux."
He ran a hand through his hair. "So, I've got to kill the bloody snake." He closed his eyes briefly and coughed. "It'll have to be at the last minute."
"Why not go to him?" Bo piped up, looking cross. "You know the coordinates! Pop in like you wizards do and bring the snake back. I'll have her for pudding!"
Henry cracked a small smile at him. "I would, love, but I can't kill Nagini until the very end. Actively going after her would alert Voldemort that I'm destroying his Horcruxes."
"Oh, yes, well," Bo sniffed. "Can you bring back some? Snake is delicious."
"Maybe," Henry laughed and turned back to Griphook. "So we're missing one. I don't know what to do about that - "
"Perhaps I could give it to you," Griphook interrupted, snapping his fingers. A round something fell into his hands, and Henry leaned forward to look at it. It was a golden cup, and it looked both expensive and dangerous. He could feel the dark magic wafting off of it, and he glanced up at Griphook in surprise. This was a Horcrux, the last and final one, the one that Henry was worried he would never find.
"This was what Narcissa Malfoy decided to put in her sister's vault a day ago," Griphook told him. "It is a Horcrux, and it's dangerous, so you'd best be careful around it."
Henry couldn't believe his luck. "My god," he choked out. "Griphook, you've just saved my arse, do you realize?" He took the cup and raised it up, careful to only touch the covered part, and smiled at his golden reflection. "This calls for a celebratory cigarette," he said, wrapping the cup back up and putting it underneath one arm. He lit his smoke and motioned to the two dragons and Griphook. "Want one?"
Their blank stares answered that question. He had a sudden thought as he lit it, and he turned back to Griphook and frowned. "Will you get into trouble for this?" he asked, unsure.
"The Elders have all agreed that it would be beneficial for us to help you find the pieces of the Dark Lord's soul. Malfoy and Lestrange will never know because, despite the meddling of the ministry, Gringotts belongs to the goblins."
"Well," Henry said, his cigarette lodged at the corner of his mouth. "This is a good day, I think. Griphook, thank you. Again."
Bo came over to inspect the artifact, sniffing at it before shaking his head and turning away. Ten congratulated Griphook on his find and seemed quite excited that plans were well underway. The goblin Henry liked to think of as a friend did not seem so chipper, however.
"You need to transfer the cup," Griphook told him severely. "And the other. The other, Mr Brooks."
Henry raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, I know. I'll do it before - "
"You'll do it when you get the gun!" Griphook snapped at him. "You must do it soon. I've warned you how the extraction will be. It won't be painful at first, this is true, but later it will, Mr Brooks! You also cannot afford to have anything wrong with your body, no injuries - "
"There's nothing wrong with me," Henry argued, cutting him off. "And since when did my health matter to you? We're in this together to kill the Dark Lord, in this together for only that reason. Don't start caring, Griphook, I'm not capable of feeling the same sentiment back!"
Griphook growled at him. "But you will be capable! Once his soul is out of you, you will feel. You're going feel everything you've never felt before. You may even regret. Take heed now before you're overwhelmed with it, wizard."
Henry looked at his feet, breathing deeply. "I'm stronger than that," he said.
"No." Griphook shook his head. "You're not."
Licking his bottom lip harshly and looking away, Henry calmed himself down slowly before turning back to Griphook. The goblin had the nerve to appear smug.
"Thank you for your help," he said formally. "I'll follow your advice."
"You'll see a healer."
Henry scowled at him, but Griphook remained unmoved. "The soul could be keeping back the power of the gun. Because your arm is still not healed, it is logical that something is keeping the curse from continuing, but the curse itself has not been eradicated."
"Fine," Henry said, very reluctantly. "I'll see a healer."
Griphook smiled at him. "Good. You can show yourself out," he said, departing without another word. Henry watched him go, remembering the lit cigarette in his hand and pulling it up to his mouth angrily.
"And you call me disagreeable!" Bo said haughtily, and Henry grinned, deciding to let the goblin's annoying behavior go. When he popped out of Gringotts, he couldn't help but think Griphook was hiding something. That Griphook knew more about the imminent future than what was possible. Henry's pride would not allow him to heed the warning, however, and he arrived at Tyler's old manor with a sense of self-righteous defiance. Whatever it was Griphook thought he couldn't handle, he would meet it without even breaking a sweat.
Hopefully.
.o00o.
Denny was waiting for him when he arrived. Henry smiled beautifully at seeing him, but his father didn't seem too happy. Frankie's message obviously meant he hadn't talked to Denny yet, and he was hoping Henry would get to him first to, probably, calm him down. It looked like Denny had found out some of what Henry was up to.
Henry let out a sigh for the millionth time that day, throwing the cup on a chair before plopping down next to his father. "What's up, mate?" Henry asked, grinning stupidly.
"You know what's up," Denny told him, looking positively murderous. "What are you doing, Henry?"
He looked away, much too tired for this. Denny fell silent, but Henry could feel him staring. "I'm sorry, Den," Henry said softly.
Denny was quiet for a while. "Frankie put you up to it?" When Henry gave him a look, he nodded grudgingly. "Yeah, I know. It's Frankie. Idiot."
"No one put me up to anything," Henry said, shifting in his seat. "It was all me."
Denny scowled, crossing his arms casually. "He hasn't hurt you has he?"
Henry frowned. "What? Who?"
"Frankie."
"What about Frankie?"
Denny threw his hands up in the air. "You and him. Fucking. Has he hurt you? I'll throttle him if he has."
"Oh my god, Den, no," Henry gaped and then started to laugh. "I'm not with Frankie! Did you even ask him?"
Looking sheepish, Denny shrugged one shoulder and said, "he would have lied if I had."
Henry giggled, honestly giggled. "This is hilarious. We're not together. This is what you've been sulking about?"
Extremely embarrassed, Denny sat down and waited for Henry's amusement to die out. "Well. Sorry," he said awkwardly. "Uh. So. Son. Any...romantic interests? Someone your own bloody age, maybe?"
Henry grinned at Denny's attempt at Dad-talk. And then he remembered Draco and wondered if their...relationship thing, was news. And Draco was his the same age... His answer must have shown on his face because Denny's mouth dropped open.
Then it turned into a grin. "Really?" Denny asked, surprised. "You're really with someone your own age! It's a fucking miracle!"
"Yeah, yeah." Henry swatted him. "He's a student at the magic school," he explained.
"Is it serious?" Denny asked, and Henry noticed then how interested his father seemed; whereas, before prison, Denny would have preferred not to hear anything about it.
"No," Henry responded, observing the man across from him. "What's the matter with you, anyway? Prison made you soft?" he asked before he could stop himself. "You haven't yelled at me once since you got out. Not even one word about what's been happening while you've been gone. What's the matter with you?"
"What's the matter with me?" Denny repeated, askance. "What's the matter with you?"
"Oh, shut it," Henry snapped, getting up to get a drink. "Really, Den, you're different."
Denny scoffed at him. "I've lightened up, kid. Time will do that to you. You end up so fucking bored behind bars it's like a whole new world when you're out. I'm fucking relaxing."
"Okay," he said, accepting Denny's reasoning. "So you don't want to know anything about what's gone on or what I've been up to?"
"No," Denny told him, shaking his head grumpily. "Just don't get killed, and make sure you know what you're doing."
Henry handed him a drink. "I know what I'm doing," he tried to reassure, but Denny looked skeptical.
"Alright," his father said at last, raising his glass in a small toast. "If you say so. I doubt I could persuade you to do anything otherwise, so I'm going to go along with it."
Henry smiled. "You're a good dad," he complimented.
Lifting his feet and plopping them down on the coffee table, Denny gave him a glare and scoffed lightly. "I'm probably the worst father in the world," he muttered into his glass. "You're a shit son though, so it's understandable."
"Hey!"
"Don't be cross with me, gets boring being on the lam," Denny pouted, cracking his neck and sinking further into his seat. "And McKay doesn't have a sense of humor and that wife of his is a dragon lady. Not to mention she's rather fit. It's cold nights when you're a wanted man, you know."
Henry couldn't believe Denny had brought that up. "Don't tell me anymore," he said. "You don't talk about that with your kids, Den!"
Denny only laughed, but thankfully dropped the subject. John arrived, looking upset about something and Henry could hear Mary yelling from another room until the door properly closed, and he tossed the man a sympathetic smile. "On the rocks, McKay?" he asked.
John nodded and sat down beside Henry on the couch. Henry poured a drink for him. "I hear you two are driving each other barmy," he said to them both, catching Denny's attention. "Do I have to separate you like five-year-olds?"
"Your father needs to grow up," John said to Henry.
"Your friend needs to grow a pair," Denny told him.
"Well, your father seems to think this house belongs to him."
"Well, your friend is forgetting that I was here first!"
"Well-"
"Seriously?" Henry interrupted them, slouching down. "I can't believe you two are pulling this shit. I own this house, so I decide who lives in it. If we can't all get along I'll chuck you lot out on the street, and you can live there. It's not that hard, trust me."
Denny scoffed at him, grabbing a handful of ice and refilling his glass. "You don't own it. Tyler owned it. Tyler's dead. Technically we're squatting."
"Technically shut the fuck up," John snapped.
Henry sighed wearily, resting his head against the back of the sofa. "Tyler left me this manor in his will. Though I don't own it legally, no one is going to dispute me being here," he explained.
John grimaced, choking back a shot. "Didn't you kill Tyler?" he asked, as if he had just remembered.
Rolling his head in John's direction, Henry said indifferently, "That's why I don't own it legally."
"Ah, he's just fucking with you," Denny said, waving Henry's comments off. Despite the fact that Henry was indeed messing about, he scowled at Denny for interrupting. "The manor belongs to Constance Tyler, my old boss's daughter. But she's a cunt and doesn't come here because her mother says this place is a house of evil, or something like that."
When John looked confused, Henry extrapolated, "They got a divorce."
"I can imagine she'd be pretty pissed if she were to find us living here, eh?" John mentioned wryly.
"Who's pissed? No one is pissed." Denny slurred, having yet another drink. He let out a short laugh and toasted them both. "But I'm getting there."
Henry smiled at his father and took his glass away, ignoring his protests. Mary called for John once again, likely too disgusted with their guests to come down and get her wayward husband. Henry was sorry that she felt that Denny was a nuisance, and that he himself was a danger to her children.
John had explained her stance on Bo in the backyard and the attack a week ago, and he could say he understood, but he didn't have to be happy about it. Even though Mary was surely overreacting, Henry didn't have the balls to tell her to her face. That woman was scary.
"There's been talk lately," Denny suddenly said, crossing his arms over his chest and laying down on the opposite sofa. "There's been talk that you know how to do all this, but you don't know why for."
Henry blinked. He crossed his legs and lit a smoke, observing his father silently, who had his eyes closed and seemed to be on the brink of dozing. When the quiet lasted too long, Denny popped one eye open to stare at him.
"Who said this to you?" Henry asked softly.
"Everyone," he responded, yawning. "Frank, John, Rashidi..." Denny shrugged a bit. "They say they know your game, but not your motive."
Henry licked his lips, finishing off his glass before setting it down. "Have you ever read the poem Liberty?" he queried, knowing the answer but asking anyway.
"Who's it by?" Denny grunted.
"Edward Thomas," he said. "It's a good one, and I don't even like poetry. I read it once in the newspaper. In London, a few months before we met. He was a war hero, you know."
Denny made a sound in the back of his throat to show that he was listening.
"First time I'd ever read any sort of poetry before. Too posh for me. But he went on about liberty, and fighting for it. Said: is being free natural? Is the only way you can get it - by denying everything else? I thought it was about me. About how even though I lived nowhere and had nothing, I could do whatever I wanted. Sounded about right. And then I read the last verse."
He paused there, and Denny cracked open his eyes again and stared at him.
"I should be rich; or if I had the power, to wipe out every one and not again," he recited. "Regret, I should be rich to be so poor. And yet I still am half in love with pain, with what is imperfect, with both tears and mirth, with things that have an end, with life and earth, and this moon that leaves me dark within the door."
Denny frowned.
"It wasn't about me at all," Henry explained, clearing his throat. "I get what he meant."
"And what was it?" Denny whispered.
Henry took a breath and grinned, pulling on the end of his smoke. "He meant my why for," he said.
Groaning, his father turned about on the sofa and covered his eyes with his hands. "Ah, fuck you," he cursed Henry, who laughed. "If you won't tell me, lad, I don't need to know."
"You'll understand when you're older, Den," he teased.
Denny threw a sofa cushion at him, before turning his back and promptly falling asleep. His snores echoed as Henry rose to leave, cleaning up their used cups and closing up the windows. He threw a blanket over Denny and shut the window. It was not yet time to sleep. Not for him. Not yet.
.o00o.
"'The last light has gone out of the world," he whispered to himself as he walked. The portrait to his rooms closed behind him softly, and the candles lit alongside the ready fire. Harry took his coat off, removing his bag of artifacts from around his shoulder. It fell onto the table with a tiny clank, and he unpacked each object quickly. The cup gleamed in the dim light of the room.
He remembered, but it had been so very long ago. How had it felt? To make a passageway, Harry brainstormed, taking up the cup in one hand and the container in the other. Two locations, the essence of each, he rehearsed, one likeness to another. The cup began to burn through the cloth in his hand. He felt the Horcrux buck like a startled animal, ready to hurt whoever had decided to displace it. Transfer, hold, connect, he thought to himself, and then he said it aloud.
"Transfer," he said, and the cup shook. "Hold." It screeched very suddenly, so startling he almost dropped it to the ground. "Connect," he told it, louder. His litany lasted until the influx of magic overwhelmed the Horcrux, and it shot down the passageway he had created and into the tiny container. "Connect," Harry muttered, sealing it.
Helga Hufflepuff's cup clattered to the floor, useless and drained of the soul that had inhabited it for so long. He sighed wearily, and placed the container down.
There was little else to do but transfer the last Horcrux, but Harry was hesitant. He was worried that the spell wouldn't hold, that the magic would turn on him. There was no other alternative though, and he picked up the container again and repeated the same words as before, only now he focused on the Horcrux inside of him.
It burned, not painfully, but uncomfortably. It felt as though someone was slowly heating up his chest. His fingers and toes began to tingle. The burning traveled and increased in intensity, until he felt as though he may scream from the feeling of wrongness shooting through him.
He snapped his eyes closed and clenched his teeth, riding out the strange pain until it hit its crescendo. The Horcrux seeped out of him, and felt as though his insides were coming out through his hands. Every drop of life in his body leaked into the humming container in his open palm. When it came down to the very last particles of Voldemort's soul, the spell snapped and he slumped forward. He sat and panted, feeling thirsty and tired.
And then his arm twitched, and began to dissolve.
Harry screamed, falling to the floor heavily, hard enough to bruise his left side. He stared in horror as the ash of his destroyed tissue burst through the healed bullet hole, ready to spread through his entire body. A drop of sweat traveled down his face, and he shut his eyes and gathered every bit of magic he could. He took from his own core, from the room, from the school, and from the earth. He took and took and took until there was nothing left for him to take. And Harry lay on the floor, writhing in agony - desperately battling to keep the curse at bay.