Albus walked into the Room of Hidden Things, glancing around with mild amusement at all the things students had chucked inside over the years. In fact, he thought wryly, picking up a small box containing the leaves from a Venemous Tentacula – a controlled substance – there were probably a few professors who had chucked a thing or two in over the years as well.
There were things in here that were Dark and dangerous, he could sense, but it wasn't just one thing he could hone in on. It would take time to find what he was looking for, time and a second pair of eyes, and then once he found it, it would have to be destroyed. But Albus knew, very keenly, that time was not on his side. It was only a matter of time until someone was discovered, whoever that someone might be, and then the whole thing could come crashing down around them.
No, time was most certainly not on his side.
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Narcissa led Sirius through the Malfoy garden, past the peacock, toward a hedge of roses she was especially fond of.
"I despise nearly everyone in that bloody room," he muttered, in case someone was trying to listen to them, and he smiled at her.
"Don't we all?" she sighed. "Listen, Sirius, when I have the baby, will you promise to be there? Only, I'm afraid of…"
She pursed her lips and he didn't ask. Her fears were her own, and he had enough to carry for three men, much less the fears of others.
"I'll be there," he said, "if I can be there. I want to promise, but…."
Narcissa nodded.
Serving one master kept her husband away from her often enough. Serving two tore Sirius away from Cara painfully often. There were only so many promises he could make.
"I suppose we'll have to go back inside soon," he said bitterly. "It's nice out here. I wish we had a garden. I think Cat would like a garden, don't you?"
"Someday, Sirius," she said, patting his arm. "One day at a time. Come on. I'm sure you'll want to see Bella's face turn purple again at the sight of you kissing Cara in public."
He grinned the first genuine grin in days, and allowed her to lead him back into the house.
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Severus had not planned for how busy he would be as a teacher. Of course, he had always known that professors had to create assignments, teach, and mark. They had to patrol the halls, and even deal with discipline and detentions and such. Severus, unfortunately, had even agreed to be the Head of Slytherin House, being the only Slytherin currently on staff.
Why did he think this would be simple?
And now, on top of everything else, Albus Dumbledore had him sorting through junk in a place called the Room of Requirement, looking for a bloody tiara. There were probably millions of items in the room, millions of things stashed away and forgotten by generations of students and teachers, and the item they were looking for had been left here, he was told, decades ago.
After the third fanged Frisbee of the day, Severus growled, incinerated the thing, and walked out. He would try again in the morning, when he'd had some sleep and perhaps a potion to numb his aggravated headache.
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Lily watched from the second story window of their cottage, watched a wind blow up the leaves on trees on the high street, where Muggles went passing, coming and going as they pleased. James and finished making the nursery, finished preparing a space for their child. She shivered at the thought of what James had suggested, of having Sirius be their Secret-Keeper.
Cara would be dead for sure, and possibly Sirius, too. And then where would they all be?
"Darling?" James called from down the stairs. "I'm making tea. Do you want a cup?"
She closed her eyes, resting her forehead on the cool windowpane, imagining the breeze on her face.
"No," she said, realizing she'd spoken too softly for him to hear. She cleared her throat. "No," she said again, forcing her voice louder. She hated having to speak that loud. Her voice always seemed higher, artificial, not her own voice. She exhaled hard, knowing without looking that condensation was forming on the windowpane where she had breathed on it. For March, it was terribly cold outside. Shouldn't they have spring? Shouldn't it be warming up for flowers to bud?
Or was it only her that felt so cold?
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Albus and Severus spent Sunday morning together in the Room of Hidden Things, discussing updates on the world around them as they worked.
"There is another Weasley," Albus said, smiling to himself. "A sixth boy, the Prewetts tell me. Ronald, he's been named."
"Disgusting," Severus said, pretending to be paying more attention to the moldy panties he was setting aside and not the mention of a sixth Weasley child. Albus hardly cared what Severus thought of the matter. It was nice that such love existed that could produce so many children.
"How is Narcissa Malfoy's child?"
"Due in three months' time," Severus replied, clearly not interested in giving a more complete answer than that.
Albus did not pry, instead regaling Severus with trivial bits and bobs of news that no doubt held no interest for the young man, but things which perhaps would give him some hope that there was more to the world around them than the despair he saw almost every day. It was the least Albus could do, with all he was asking of this man, to try to give him hope.
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In a small house in the middle of nowhere in the countryside, Dorcas Meadows sat, staring, at a tiny flower bush she had planted when the McKinnons were murdered. She had been turning over Sirius's words in her mind since she confronted him, and she wished she could feel comforted with his responses, but she was even more afraid.
He was spying, that was obvious, but spying on whom? On Voldemort, who secured the safety of his wife? On Dumbledore, who had given him everything?
She knew now without a shadow of a doubt that there was a mark on his arm, a skull and a snake, burning black on his skin as it had on Peter's. How much of the recent past was a lie and how much was truth?
Once upon a time, she could have talked with Caradoc about this sort of thing. Or Fabian. But now she was too afraid to speak to anyone but Dumbledore, and she was too afraid to ask Dumbledore about Sirius, because what if he'd been fooled? He hadn't known about Peter. Wasn't it possible that he didn't know the real allegiance of Sirius Black?
If the war ended tomorrow, she thought, leaning against a windowsill, what would history say about Sirius Black? Could history be trusted, anyway? Every time she picked up the paper, she saw conflations, speculation, flat-out lies told to make people feel the Ministry was their ally, or that something was under control, when everyone knew nothing was. It was a wonder there hadn't been some sort of revolution.
Maybe when all of this was over, she would go to America. No Death Eaters. No war. Or maybe Canada. Canada seemed a better place to avoid a war.
But she watched the bush bristle in the wind, and she knew she would never leave. She needed to be close to her lost friends, to their memory. She needed to be able to visit their gravesites, to see this bush.
That was, if, as Sirius had said, she managed to survive to see the end.
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After three straight nights of almost no sleep, Severus was growing painfully irritable, and he was about to say that perhaps this tiara wasn't actually there, when he knocked over a box of quills – no doubt Autocorrect Quills or some such nonsense – and his eye was drawn to a marble bust with a strange wig, and a tiara on top.
There was no guarantee it was what they were looking for, he reminded himself as he crossed to the mound of junk it was on. After all, decades of garbage had no doubt already been searched, and it was possible that there were dozens of tiaras in the mess. As he approached, however, he could feel pulsating Dark Magic, of a very insidious kind.
"Professor Dumbledore," he said, "I think I've found something."
As he heard the old man approach, he carefully reached out to pick it up, breathing a sigh of relief when it did not harm him.
"There's an inscription," he said when he turned to find Dumbledore standing there. "It says, 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.'"
When he looked up, Dumbledore was smiling again, holding out his hand.
"We have found the final piece," he said. "Now it is a matter of destroying it."
"And then?" Severus prompted.
Dumbledore frowned slightly, folding the diadem in a piece of cloth and tucking it inside his robes.
"We shall see."
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Cara Black walked up and down the staircase, going for the best view of each corridor, every corner, every tiny bit of bannister and molding. The color was exactly as she had imagined it, and even Narcissa had agreed that it looked perfect with the bannister wood, in spite of the other woman's reservations.
She sat down at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the ceiling, leaning back on the stairs. She felt the edges of the steps dig into her back, but it was a pleasant feeling, and she smiled. For the first time, she felt she'd really accomplished something. Yes, she accomplished it with help, but it was her choices, her preferences.
No more troll's foot umbrella stand. No more house-elf heads lining the walls.
Tomorrow they began with refurnishing the drawing room, cleaning out the cabinets, replacing them with new glass-front cabinets in a warmer-toned wood, and light-colored sofas, a new writing desk, and a new mantle for the fireplace.
A full day's work, especially with the fireplace, but with Cara's mother-in-law now on board, Cara felt more confident with every change. Soon enough, she told herself. Soon enough, they would have a house worth inviting people to, worth living in.
Worth keeping, when all was said and done.
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Albus turned the diadem over in his hands. It was a gentle, fragile-looking thing, and ancient, goblin-wrought. How many precious things had been cursed, touched with Dark Magic over the years? Plenty of family heirlooms, Albus knew. There were many curious and dangerous things in the depths of Gringotts, in the oldest vaults of the wealthiest families. He suspected that Sirius had a great number of such things in his own vaults.
Two hours ago, Albus had used Fawkes to send Alastor a message, to ask him to meet at their usual place at the weekend, on Friday, in the early hours of the morning. Alastor responded within ten minutes that he would be there.
Until then, Albus needed to hold on to this diadem, but he felt heaviness. Should he tell Helena Ravenclaw that he had discovered the item? Was there an obligation to tell her what had become of it, what would become of it?
But then, how would Tom have found the thing if she hadn't told him? Tom Riddle was very clever, but he hadn't the access to Albus's resources, the wealth of information at the disposal of a headmaster of Hogwarts, going back centuries. The young Tom Riddle relied on his charms and cleverness, and a little bit on his talent. He must have flattered her, teased the information out of her, as he had done with Horace, with Dippet, with Hepzibah Smith, with so many others before.
He closed his eyes, feeling the sting of their dryness, the weight of their tiredness. How had he not realized how late it was?
Albus locked the diadem in a drawer by itself. There was so much still unknown about Horcruxes, and Albus did not want to take any unnecessary risks.
When the door was locked he tried to empty his mind of the prophecy, the Secret-Keeping, the Horcruxes, and the terrible knowledge that someone would have to be sent to kill Voldemort, when the time came. With any luck, it was only a matter of months, now. Until August.
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Severus took the potions he had traded out and placed them in his pocket, telling Narcissa that he would see her in a week's time and thanking her for the tea, not acknowledging what they had done, what they were still doing. She saw him to the door, and told him she looked forward to seeing him again, and he stepped out into the night. Sirius Black was due at Spinner's End any minute now, and Severus would be lucky to get there before Black.
Before he had taken two steps past the gate, however, he threw up a Shield Charm and blocked a rather clumsy attempt to stun him. He levitated the assailant by the ankle and crossed to him, frowning at the sight of Barty Crouch, Jr.
"Well," he said silkily, "I suppose you think you know a thing or two. Let's just see how you feel about that in an hour or so."
He grabbed Crouch's upper arm, and without even bothering to let him down, Severus turned on his heel and Disapparated them both to Cokeworth.
Black was already waiting outside the house, his eyes widening at the sight of a slightly distressed, petrified Crouch.
"What are you doing with him?" Black demanded, and Severus waved his wand to unlock the house, motioning for Black to lead the way inside.
When the three were safely inside, the door locked behind Severus, they bound Crouch to a chair.
"He caught me coming out of Malfoy Manor," he said. "And he attacked me. I suspect he's aware I've been blocking his attempts to abort Narcissa's child."
"He what?" Black cried, his eyes flashing in outrage.
"His attempt to assure that there are no threats to his claim on the Black fortune, I expect," Severus said dryly, waving his wand for the decanter to pour out two glasses of firewhiskey. "If you and Narcissa die childless, he inherits as the closest relative."
Several points of Black's face began to twitch, including his nostrils and a spot at the back of his jaw. This was clearly the last straw for Black, who began to pace. Severus watched him, casually sipping his firewhiskey and ignoring the efforts of the bound and gagged Crouch to free himself, all in vain.
"What do we do with him?" Severus finally asked. "Remove his memories? Imperius Curse?"
"No," Sirius sighed. "Both are easily detectable by Voldemort. We need a more permanent solution."
To Severus's mild surprise, Black drew his wand and pointed it at their visitor.
"What's your most gruesome spell?" Black asked softly.
"How gruesome?"
"Long, painful, bloody if possible."
"Dead?"
"Very."
Severus tried not to smirk. He'd seen Black kill a few people now, but never with anything but the quick and theoretically painless Killing Curse.
"There's one I invented," he said, setting down his empty glass. "The incantation is Sectumsempra. Probably the best I can come up with. Take him to the kitchen, though. I expect you to clean up after yourself, and I doubt you know spells to remove blood from carpets."
Those same spots on Black's face were still twitching as he levitated Crouch, chair and all, into the kitchen. Severus followed, leaning against the doorframe as Black lifted his wand. There was a moment's pause, and Severus held his breath, wondering if perhaps the Gryffindor would back out, use a weaker curse after all. But then…
"Sectumsempra!"
The malice, the bile behind the spell was unmistakable in Black's voice, and Severus's eyes widened at the wounds that opened through the bindings, right at Crouch's chest. The bleeding was extensive, as Severus had expected, covering the floor, the table, even a little bit of it splattering up to the cabinets above the kitchen counter. Black would be expected to clean every last drop of it, so Severus was making very careful mental notes of the blood patterns.
As the life and blood left Crouch's body, he writhed in pain, first with noticeable force and very loud grunts and cries through the gag. The sounds became strangled, whimpering, choking, and the writhing was weaker and weaker as the two men watched him die. Those eyes went glassy, until there was no motion, no sound, except for the dripping of blood from his body, from the chair, onto the kitchen floor.
"How shall we explain this to the Dark Lord?" Severus asked mildly.
"We won't," Black said coolly, his face now a mask of calm, his voice perfectly serene. "Do you care about the chair?"
Severus shrugged. He really only needed one, and could conjure more if necessary.
Black Vanished the chair, leaving Crouch on the floor with his now-loose bindings, in a puddle of his own blood. A quick flick of the wand and the body was burnt to nearly-instant ashes, some of the blood congealing and bubbling on the kitchen floor. It would make cleaning more difficult for Black, but there would be no signs of the body once the ashes and blood were cleaned away.
"So," Severus said as Black cleaned meticulously, "we don't know where he is, do we?"
"No idea at all," Black said, smirking slightly. "Not as though I was fond of him, and since I have Voldemort's word that Crouch won't touch my wife, what business is he of mine?"
Severus smirked as the last of the blood was cleared away, and Sirius used his wand to casually conjure a glass of water and drink it, leaning against the counter he'd just scoured.
"Now," Black said, setting down the empty glass, "you wanted to talk about Horcruxes."
A/N: Picture someone grinning like an idiot. That's me right now. I just loved writing this scene, and editing was even better.
So, they've found and will destroy the final Horcrux. The question is…what then?
Review Prompt: Who's going to be the first person to ask if anybody's seen Barty?
-C
