Chapter Ninety-Five - Slytherin's Locket

"I don't like this."

Harry was speaking to his godfather, though it was clear Sirius wasn't listening. He stood with his back to Harry, contemplating the gold locket in his hand. Before him, the tapestry detailing several generations of his family hung motionlessly against the wall. Elsewhere, Harry could fairly hear the sounds of the cleaning committee hard at work, but in the drawing room, Harry and Sirius stood alone.

"Sirius, this is a bad idea," Harry insisted when he failed to elicit a response.

"You heard Kreacher," said Sirius, abruptly turning away from the tapestry and marching toward a small table he'd placed in the center of the room. "He was never able to open the locket. If Remus is correct, and its original owner was Salazar Slytherin, then it must open with parseltongue."

He placed the locket on the table and stood back. The pendant glittered menacingly in the scant light that filtered through the drawing room windows. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. He felt as though the locket was listening to them and knew what they were planning.

"Maybe it did belong to Slytherin," Harry said, "But that was a long time ago… If it passed through Vol… Through You-Know-Who's hands…"

Harry was ashamed at his own failure to pronounce Voldemort's name. He, who had always scorned the Weasleys for their cowardice when they refused to say it themselves. But he couldn't shake the strange feeling that the locket was listening in on their conversation, and its undeniable connection to Lord Voldemort made him uneasy.

"Voldemort went to great lengths to hide this for a reason. And Regulus… My brother knew that this locket needed to be destroyed. I can't do this without you."

"But we don't know what kind of enchantment it's under," warned Harry with a persistence fueled by fear, "It could be cursed."

Sirius uttered a dry, forced laugh. "It's most certainly cursed! That's why you're going to let me handle this. You're not allowed to do magic outside of school, anyway. I just need you to open it, Harry."

"Let's at least wait for Remus!" Harry pleaded. He was uncomfortably aware that Sirius still used the wand Harry had crafted for him during his third year at school. His godfather claimed that it worked just as well as his old wand, but Harry was not confident in his own amateur skills to believe it capable of handling a task of this importance. They needed Remus, if not to talk some sense into Sirius, then to assist them with his knowledge as a former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Sirius shook his head, "No good. Remus is on guard duty. I don't know when he'll be back, and the sooner we take care of this, the better."

Harry was too frightened to ask what it was that Remus was guarding. At the moment, he didn't care. He was trying to think of a way to talk Sirius out of this mad plan.

"Sirius, I've had that locket for two years now. You've worn it yourself, and nothing bad has happened yet. I'm sure it can wait a few more hours. We could talk to Kingsley, or Tonks…"

"Harry, I am your godfather, and you will do what I say!" Sirius suddenly snapped. Harry flinched. Sirius had never used such a harsh tone with him before. He was hurt, but also chastised, as though he were nothing more than a disobedient teenager, when he knew, deep down, that was not the case.

Sirius must have seen the pain in his expression. His eyes spoke an apology that didn't quite make it to his lips. In a softer tone, he continued, "Please, try to understand. All this time, I thought my brother died a villain. I… I need to do this. For Regulus… And for myself."

When Harry looked down at his feet, still uncertain, Sirius added, "You wanted to help the Order, didn't you? Well, this is your chance! This is what we do. We have to take risks if we're ever going to stay a step ahead of Voldemort. Help me, Harry. Please."

Harry still didn't understand why they had to act now. Why couldn't they wait for help? If not from Remus, then surely one of the Aurors or Mrs. Zabini or even Mundungus Fletcher… Where were the other members of the Order when he needed them?

But despite his doubts, Harry knew that Sirius was right about one thing. If this locket was important enough for Voldemort to try to hide it away, then it was better to destroy it. The feeling that the locket was listening to their conversation had not abated, and Harry found himself wondering if even now, Voldemort knew what they were planning. Keeping such a relic in the headquarters of the Order courted more risk than opening it. Or so he managed to convince himself.

He finally nodded his head in mute acquiescence to Sirius's demands. Sirius clapped him on the shoulder, then instructed him to stand far back.

"When the locket opens, I want whatever is inside to focus on me," he said.

Harry compliantly backed himself against the opposite wall, as far as he could go. Sirius waited until he was in position to raise his wand.

"On the count of three," he said, "One… Two…"

On three, Harry said "open," his eyes trained on the small emerald serpent that adorned the front of the locket. The word slipped past his lips as a sibilant hiss. He prayed that it wouldn't work. That there was some other trick to opening the locket, or that the password would be something more complex. To his dismay, the locket snapped open with a small click.

Harry gasped when he saw what was inside. Rather than a small portrait or mirror, there was an eye. A living, moving eye that stared at them from behind the locket's miniscule glass windows. It was dark and strikingly familiar. A cold chill passed through Harry when its frantic gaze swiveled in his direction.

Harry tore his own eyes away from the horrid sight, seeking Sirius for guidance. He wondered why his godfather had not struck the moment the locket opened, but Sirius seemed frozen in place. His wand was still at the ready, but the hand which held it trembled ever so slightly. His gaze was still fixed on the roving eye, and sweat dampened his brow. Before Harry could utter a word to recall him to his senses, a voice whispered from the locket.

"I have seen your heart, and it is mine."

There was no doubt in Harry's mind to whom that voice belonged, nor whose eye stared at them from the locket, though his were now red and had slitted pupils like a snake's.

"Sirius! This isn't going to work! We have to close it!" Harry called urgently.

But Sirius was not listening to him. He stared back at the eye, focused on the voice that was still murmuring from it.

"I have seen your dreams, Sirius Black, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is still possible… All you dread has already come to pass…"

"Sirius, please! Don't listen to it!" Harry entreated.

But the voice continued to whisper, gradually gaining in volume and strength, as if Sirius's focus were giving it power.

"Hated by your own mother… Disowned by your family… Pitied and resented by the lover you betrayed… Coward… Weakling… You, who could not even protect your dearest friends from a terrible death…"

"NO!" Sirius roared, gripping his wand tighter as he took aim at the locket, but still he did not fire a spell.

Hoping that this cry signaled that Sirius was fighting whatever thrall the locket had him under, Harry called to his godfather again, "Don't listen to it, Sirius!"

The locket had started to shake. Harry was terrified of what was coming next, hardly knowing what other dark magic the locket contained, but Sirius seemed oblivious to his pleas.

"Close!" Harry shouted desperately in parseltongue, but once opened the locket would not be shut again so easily. It continued to vibrate, more violently now. Harry, out of options, began shouting for help, calling for Remus and Mrs. Zabini in turn. But no one came running to his cries. He couldn't understand it. With so many people constantly running in and out of the house, and the cleaning committee only two floors away, why could no one hear what was happening in the drawing room?

All at once, the locket stopped shaking. From its twin windows, two figures bloomed into being. Harry screamed in shock and tried to take a step back, but his back was already pressed firmly against the wall. Sirius merely watched as the cloudy shapes took form, his face pale and terrified.

The shapes were weirdly distorted, but Harry could make out the shadow of a man and a woman, their backs turned toward him. Something stirred in the back of Harry's frightened mind. The figures reminded him of the spirits that had emerged when he and Voldemort's wands connected. But those had been lighter, illuminated by the diamond-white light that had encompassed Harry and Voldemort at the time. These figures were dark, gray, and far more sinister.

The man began to speak. "Why did you convince us to use Peter? We trusted you. We wanted you. And you threw us away…"

A wave of dread washed over Harry as he realized who the man must be. But his voice was not the voice of Harry's father. That voice, so high and cold, could only belong to Lord Voldemort.

But if Sirius heard the difference, he didn't show it. He continued to look upon the two figures in terror, muttering weakly, "No… James, I never…"

"Never what?" asked the woman, her voice sharp and cruel. She turned her head toward the ghostly form of James, and Harry spied the face of his mother in profile.

"Thought?" she continued, "You never think, do you Sirius? Just like you never thought what would happen to Remus after you pulled that little prank on Snivellus. Did you think it was funny? That he would laugh when you told him what you'd done?"

Sirius's lips continued to move, though he uttered no words. His eyes were wide with fear as he stared at the figures of James and Lily Potter. Their voices began to blend together, as the two specters berated him as one.

"You have always been a disappointment, Sirius. Cursed child of the House of Black. How many lives will you destroy? How many mistakes before everyone realizes how truly damaged you are?"

Harry couldn't take any more of this. He hadn't known his parents when they lived, but he knew enough from the stories Sirius and Remus shared that they would never speak to a friend this way. This was Voldemort's curse, his way of defending the locket from those who would destroy it.

Bracing himself for what might happen next, he darted forward. He hardly knew what he was going to do. He had left his wand upstairs with his school supplies. He didn't know of any spells he could use, even if he had it. But he was determined to close the locket at all costs. If he couldn't close it with parseltongue, he'd have to find another way.

His sudden lunge drew the attention of the phantom James and Lily. Harry could see them clearly now, and the sight brought him stumbling to a halt. Their eyes were red, their hair swirling around them in a non-existent wind. They continued to turn toward him, a pair of gruesome smiles distorting their strangely warped features.

"What a surprise," murmured the ghost of Lily in an almost motherly voice, "Harry…"

He felt like vomiting, hearing his name spoken by that thing that was not his mother. But with the phantoms turned away, Sirius seemed to break free of their enchantment. In an instant, he saw Harry, his hand reaching recklessly for the locket as the figures bore down on him, claw-like hands extended toward his face and throat.

With a wordless cry, Sirius fired a spell at the locket. A flash of bright white light blinded Harry, sending him stumbling back until he fell hard on his backside. The flash was followed by a deafening crack and a scream that was abruptly cut short. Then all was quiet.

Harry opened his eyes, blinking away the black dots that obstructed his vision. When he could again see clearly, the first thing he beheld was the locket. It had fallen to the floor, where it lay in two pieces, snapped at the hinge. The glass windows had been shattered into tiny fragments by the force of Sirius's spell and lay scattered across the carpet like bits of glittering crystal. The sinister dark eye was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was only a stained silk lining. The fabric smoked slightly, though the metal was cool to the touch as Harry tentatively lifted it from the floor.

"Sirius…" Harry breathed, his voice shaking, but excited, "Sirius, You did it! Whatever spell that was, it worked! You destroyed it… Sirius?"

The room was still eerily quiet. Sirius hadn't said a word. Harry turned, and only then saw his godfather, laying flat on the ground, his face pressed into the carpet, as still as a corpse.