Harry dug his fingernails into his palms to keep from screaming because Sirius couldn't be dead. Not Sirius. Not his father, with his laughter and his fierce defense of anyone he loved. Harry had never felt alone in a world with Sirius. Never felt unprotected. But looking at Narcissa, standing in the parlour like an immaculate column of silk robes and despair, he knew he was alone now. Defenseless in a way he'd never been.

"This is your fault," he said. The words were sour on his tongue, but it felt good to say them, so he shaped all his rage and grief and fear into letters and said them again. He had to blame someone and she was right there. She'd sent him into that trap. "This is your fault. You killed him."

"Harry." Narcissa – the woman he'd called mum since he could talk – took a step toward him and Harry scrambled away. "I know you're upset."

Upset? He wasn't upset. Upset was what a person got when they realized they'd forgotten to get more milk. He got upset when he lost at cards. Upset was a word for not catching the snitch. Upset was for small mistakes. Small failures. He wasn't upset right now. He was engulfed. He was drowning. "I hate you," he said in a low voice, and he realized he meant it. "You sent him there. You could have sent Lucius. No one would have suspected Lucius because he's one of them."

"Harry," Narcissa said. She held a hand out placatingly, but Harry went on.

"He was there in the graveyard. He was there when Voldemort wanted to kill me. He was there, and he didn't do anything to stop him."

"It's not –"

"Sirius came for me," Harry said. "Remus came for me. But you would have let me die." He was mixing Lucius and Narcissa up in his head and didn't care. They were all the same. All Death Eaters. All supporters of Voldemort. Even Draco belonged to that clan of snakes and filth, but not him. He'd rather be alone than be with them.

He turned on Draco. "Get out."

No one moved.

"Get out," Harry said more loudly, and when they all still stayed frozen he screamed. "Out! Get out. Out, out, out, out out!"

Blaise shifted uncomfortably beside him but didn't say anything. Draco stared at him in shock, disbelief turning to anger on his face when he realized Harry meant it. "You're an arsehole," he said. "You aren't the only person who loved him."

"Fuck you," Harry said, and it felt so good to say it. "Fuck you. You and your shitty, Death Eater father. Fuck both of you. Fuck all of you. He never liked Sirius, and you know it. He probably hoped he'd die. Get rid of the embarrassing cousin, clean up the family tree."

"Harry, that's not fair," Narcissa said.

Remus picked up his tear-stained face and composed himself long enough to say, "You had better go, Narcissa. I'll take care of things here."

She nodded and held a hand out for Draco.

"Harry," Draco said hesitatingly, like this might be the end of something if he left, and part of Harry whispered that Narcissa was right, that he wasn't being fair. He didn't care. Draco still had a father and Harry didn't and right now Harry hated him for that. Hated him because it was Sirius who'd taken the risk. Sirius who'd braved Voldemort's lair. Sirius who'd died, all while Lucius Malfoy stayed home and did what? Had a drink? Read the papers? Wanked off?

"Fuck you," Harry said and spat at him. "You'll be a Death Eater yourself by this time next year, I bet."

"Harry," Remus said, but the word didn't have any force behind it.

"If that's what it takes for Lucius to keep him safe, that's what'll happen," Blaise said. He'd been sitting, an outsider trapped in a fight not of his own making, but a storm was brewing on his dark face. "The Malfoys will throw anyone into Voldemort's maw to save themselves. Sirius. You. Me. Harry's right."

"Damn right I am," Harry said. He narrowed his eyes and focused all his attention on Draco. So slender. So fragile. He was a sapling who'd bend whatever way the wind went, just like his parents. Just like his father, who could sneak over to Voldemort's unsuspected. Not like Sirius. They'd known at a glance Sirius was too good to be on their side. Too noble. Peter had…

Peter had…

Harry fought the churning in his stomach. Remembering what Peter had done to Sirius made him want to throw up, and remembering himself as the snake slithering along the floor, opening his jaws –

"Get OUT!" he screamed, and this time Narcissa listened. She snatched Draco's hand and pulled him into the Floo, tossing a handful of Floo Powder in as she went.

"Owl me," she said to Remus before she stepped into the green flames and disappeared.

A heavy silence descended upon the room.

"Voldemort killed Sirius," Blaise said at last, like he was testing the words out. Like he was weighing them and rearranging everything in his life around their truth.

"It looks that way," Remus said. He sank into a chair and fastened a British stoicism on his scarred face. "We'll know more in a few hours. He could be off somewhere, hiding, but –"

"I'm going to kill him," Blaise said flatly. "Where do I sign up for the killing Voldemort squad?"

"I think with Narcissa," Remus said.

"Where else?" Harry demanded. Blaise was right. This was their fight now.

"Professor McGonagall," Remus said.

#

Narcissa stared at the fireplace. The flames danced merrily. The warmth on her face was everything it should be, neither too hot nor too cold. And the man at her side was the husband she had chosen. The man she loved. Her son was upstairs on the Floo, calling a woman he was tied to through time and war, his arm still naked of any Mark.

And she felt like a failure.

Her cousin was dead.

Her near-son blamed her.

Voldemort still lived.

"He knew what he was risking," Lucius said gently. Narcissa would have rolled her eyes if her mother hadn't beaten that habit out of her. Sirius never knew what he was risking. He'd joined the Order for glory and righteous adrenaline. He'd taken over raising a baby out of raw love. He'd walked into Voldemort's lair just as blindly. He was rash and brave and good and now he was dead.

"I should owl Andromeda," she said. Her sister had every reason to despise her, but family was family and she had to try to reach out to the few Blacks that were alive and sane.

"If you want," Lucius said and rested a hand on her arm. Narcissa drew what strength she could from that touch. Sirius had known the risks, and so had she, and she'd see this through until she danced at her son's wedding.

Her sons' weddings.

#

Hermione closed the Floo connection and walked slowly to her room. She felt so stupid. She'd reassured Draco that nothing was going on, only politics. And she'd been so, so wrong. Everything was going on. Horcruxes. Snakes. Sirius dead. A monster from her nightmares sprung to life in an old mansion.

"Is everything okay?" her mother asked.

"Draco and Harry had a fight," Hermione said.

"It'll probably be fine by the time you're all back in school," her father said.

Hermione nodded because in a normal situation, that's exactly how things would go, but she didn't think Harry and Draco would be friends again anytime soon. Not until the monster was dead. Up in her room, she pulled out an old sketchbook and turned it to a page she'd looked at so many times, the book fell open at that spot. She'd never been great at drawing and hadn't cared enough to get better, but this one figure she'd sketched out over and over again. The face was grey and flat, with no nose and red, cruel eyes. He held arms out and a giant snake draped over them, mouth open and forked tongue out.

"Very evocative," her art teacher had said back in primary. "Is he from a show on the telly?"

"I dreamt it," she'd said. And she had. Over and over again she'd had fragmented glimpses of a monster with a snake. She'd assumed it was the sort of repeated dream everyone had. Her mum laughed about how she'd dreamed she could fly so many times one of these days she might just step off the roof and see what happened.

It would be better for whatever this was to be nothing but a nightmare.

Hermione touched her finger to her drawing. Magic was real, so she had no trouble believing that monsters were too.

She'd do research when she got back to Hogwarts. The library would have the answer.

#

Harry sliced his palm open and pressed it against Zabini's. They clasped their fingers together as their blood mingled and dripped to the floor. "Blood brothers," Harry said.

"We'll take that bastard down," Zabini said just as grimly.

Harry tightened his grip. He didn't need Draco or the Malfoys and their tainted, twisted version of love. He and Blaise Zabini would kill Voldemort without them. And Peter too.

No one killed Sirius and lived.

#

"Oh, Mr. Potter, how nice to see you." Minerva slid a pile of parchment she'd been meaning to grade out of her way and accioed a tea set. She hadn't planned to summon the child to a conference for a few days yet. She'd wanted him to get settled back into the routine of the school after his holiday break.

After Sirius' death.

Harry's face was wan and set. In a normal time – if he was a normal boy – she'd have directed him to Madam Pomfrey so she could set up meetings with a counselor. But today the best she could do was biscuits and tea. What they were doing was too dangerous – Voldemort too ruthless – to run the risk of a counselor who might run and tattle to her master.

"Do have a seat," she said, and he edged all the way into her office, Blaise Zabini was on his heels. That was a friendship she'd never have expected, but here it was, and the two of them were clearly tight as thieves. They both sat on the edges of her chairs. Gone was the lounging, laughing Harry Potter who released pixies into classrooms and wrote naughty poems. He'd been replaced by this haunted, tense boy.

The cost of love was grief.

"We want to kill him," Zabini said without preamble. "How?"

Minerva remembered other children who'd said much the same thing. James. Marlene. Sirius. Molly. Mostly dead now. It seemed unfair that this child meant the same monster. What had all the sacrifices been for if they had to fight the same wars again? She smothered all the sorrow and loss and said, "Sit up straighter, if you will, Mr. Zabini. I don't know what sort of posture Professor Snape allows you in conferences, but I expect a more rigid spine."

"Professor," Harry said. It was a plea. It was a command. He was James come again, righteous fury and loss writ broadly across his young face. "We have the right."

"It isn't as simple as running a knife into his ribs," Minerva said, hoping to shock them. She didn't. They were the ones who shocked her.

"We know he has Horcruxes," Zabini said. "We just get rid of them, then him."

Just. Such a small word. Small and deceptive. Remus must have been telling tales, or maybe Sirius. It almost certainly hadn't been Narcissa. Minerva supposed she should be grateful because it would make the next revelation easier. "There were seven," she said coolly.

"Seven to start," Harry said. "How many now?"

"And what are they?" Zabini asked. "And how do we get rid of them?"

"Not a word of this goes beyond this room," Minerva said. She considered going through the theatricals of admitting them to the Order of the Phoenix but decided she'd just end up in tears when she looked at Harry's face, and no one needed that. A threat would have to suffice, and she knew what would scare both of them into line. "If you breathe even a hint of this to your friends, you will both be banned from Quidditch for the rest of your time at Hogwarts, and you will spend every practice on your knees scrubbing the halls under Mr. Filch's direction."

"We aren't children," Harry said with so much disdain Minerva wanted to laugh. A child was exactly what he was, what they both were.

"Mr. Zabini?" she asked.

"Who would I tell?"

She nodded. "Very well. There were seven Horcruxes. Do not inquire how I know this. I will not tell you. The easiest ways to get rid of them are fiendfyre and basilisk venom. We have disposed of the cup, the crown, the locket, and the book. Sirius was taking care of the snake. I do not know if he –"

"It's dead," Harry said.

"And how do you know that?"

It was Zabini who answered. "He has dreams," he said. The words tried to sound annoyed, but a thread of fear wove its way under them. "Wakes up screaming."

"I am not enlightened," Minerva said. "Please go on."

"Sometimes I can see out the eyes of his snake," Harry said. The lack of tone in the words made Minerva shudder. "When I'm sleeping. It's how I knew Sirius… I could see…"

He broke down and bent over, shuddering.

"He saw himself eating Sirius," Zabini said.

"And also a rat," Harry said. "Later. One of Sirius' rats. That fucking snake –"

"Language," Minerva said automatically.

"That bloody snake –"

"Only slightly better, Mr. Potter."

"That blasted snake," he said, and she gave up. "It slid along the floor of that place, and down to the cellars, and found one of the rats Sirius brought over. It shouldn't have been hungry. It should have been sleeping after such a large… a large meal. But it has a hunger, an unnatural, burning hunger, and it went hunting, and there the rat was."

Harry's voice had become haunted as he relayed his dream.

"I opened my mouth," he said. "Swallowed it, and down it slid. But it didn't take long before the burning started. It was fire expanding out, and I burned and I burned and I –"

"He woke up screaming," Zabini said, cutting him off. "We put together that the snake ate one of the laced rats and died."

"Right." Minerva tore her eyes away from Harry and forced herself not to reach down into her drawer and pull out her bottle of emergency scotch. "So that leaves the ring, which Dumbledore is currently wearing, and one other."

"What's the other one?" Harry asked too eagerly.

She looked at him and felt her heart break. "You," she said softly.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – 'the cost of love was grief' is a paraphrase of a well-known maxim by Dr. Colin Murray Parkes

Thank you to torrilin for beta reading!