Well. It's been a while- my apologies, I was busy for, well, Christmas. Back now though, and hopefully Emerald and Argent will also be updated over the weekend.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Enjoy.
Hermione couldn't help but feel a little like a stalker. After all, surely it couldn't be healthy to be keeping such an obsessive eye on someone, even with a tool as marvellously detached as the Marauders Map, version two? Although, given that said person was Vulpine, perhaps she was somewhat justified. Currently her fellow time-traveller was walking with one Neville Longbottom, something that made Hermione slightly nervous. Neville was the only other possible subject of the Prophecy- although Vulpine killing Voldemort rather made his legitimacy unquestionable- but, more than that, Neville was the only one of their generation who had the same potential power as Vulpine. Hermione herself was close, but close was no cigar. Still, Vulpine seemed to like Neville, and she was reminded of what the other Neville- the confident, capable one- had said.
"The thing about Vulpine is, below that charming, sarcastic psychopath there's still the loyal, determined friend we used to know. Of course, below that there's a raving sadist, but who's counting anymore?"
Neville had laughed after saying that. Hermione wondered if she should have been concerned about his mental state as well.
"You just need to stop doubting yourself. Magic is more of a pet than a tool." Vulpine cheerfully lectured as he strolled down the Hogwarts corridor, Neville trailing somewhat awkwardly behind him. Vulpine was in a flamboyant mood, gesturing grandly with his left hand while keeping his right loose at his side, close to his wand. Neville really needed to be brought out of his shell. Push came to shove, Vulpine could set the other boy up as the hero, sneakily off Voldemort and let good old Nev take all the blame. Uh, credit. All it needed was a good, solid pep talk and maybe a wand that wasn't being awkward. Vulpine already had the knowledge of what had suited Neville, but it wasn't exactly easy to get hold of ingredients inside Hogwarts. Speaking of which, he needed to use Padfoot as a guinea pig for how Basilisk heartstring acted as a wand core. He wouldn't be hurt. Probably.
"Oh, look." Sneered a supercilious voice. "Potty and Fatbottom."
There was something so very tiring about the old insults, Vulpine mused as he looked up and met the eyes of Draco Malfoy. Malfoy. Vulpine had never liked him, dislike that had morphed into hate, hate that had never been quenched even by the death of Malfoy's love, the murder of his cronies, the slow torture inflicted on Draco himself. Although Vulpine admitted to a grudging respect, since Draco hadn't started screaming for several minutes into the torture. A downside of not using the Cruciatus, it took time to inflict pain. But now, all Vulpine felt was tired disgust. Malfoy was a child, not truly worth the time. No nemesis this.
"Malfoy. Witty as ever." Vulpine drawled, shooting Neville a reassuring glance. Malfoy frowned, clearly not expecting such a casual response.
"Hanging around with Squibs now Potter? The Mudblood and Weasel not low down enough?"
Vulpine tilted his chin fractionally, giving Malfoy a searching look.
"You would know more than me about that, I'm afraid. After all, my friends are all quite magical. It's your gorillas that struggle to tell which end of a wand is which. Have they ever cursed themselves by mistake?"
Malfoy flushed slightly, and Crabbe and Goyle shifted in an attempt to look threatening. It really was laughable. In the ex-future, Goyle hadn't managed a single spell on target when Vulpine had caught up to him- it had been so boring that Vulpine had just hit him with Sectumsempra and called it a day. Crabbe at least had been more amusing- Vulpine had almost cracked a rib laughing when he had taken control of the amateur Fiendfyre Crabbe had summoned and had it chase the panicked Death Eater around.
"You think you're so tough, don't you, Potter? Well, it looks like it's just you and the Squib." Malfoy sneered, trying to put on a brave front. Vulpine raised an eyebrow.
"Really? But Crabbe, Goyle and Neville are here as well." He responded, letting his right arm hang loose, almost as though the elbow was broken. Wand just touching his curled fingertips. Malfoy flushed, looked back at Crabbe and Goyle and pulled his wand. Vulpine drew and cast in a single lazy motion.
"Stupefy, Stupefy, Protego."
The spell Malfoy had cast- quick draw, incidentally, not bad- didn't even make the shield in front of an awed Neville flicker, and Crabbe and Goyle made resounding thuds as they hit the ground. Malfoy had gone pale, even compared to his usual milky complexion.
"Your main mistake," Vulpine drawled, savouring the terror on Malfoy's face- no wonder Voldemort had enjoyed being a Dark Lord so much- "Was looking back at your cronies. Apart from making you look weak because you're searching for backup, it signalled you were about to attack. Though I doubt you could have beaten my draw anyway."
Malfoy looked at Vulpine, and firmed his grip on his wand. Draco wasn't a complete coward, no matter what might be said. Vulpine smiled, and raised his wand in salute.
"And now, we duel."
"Tarantallegra!" Malfoy yelled. Vulpine rolled his eyes and lazily stepped aside.
"Locomotor mortis."
Dead on, and Malfoy fell in an awkward heap. The Leg-Lock curse, so simple. Boring. The panic in Malfoy's eyes and mind was no compensation for it. Vulpine casually pulled up a Protego, and waited as Malfoy launched fruitless spells at it. Then, of course, Malfoy became desperate and did something stupid.
"Serpensortia!"
Vulpine sighed.
"Langlock. Expelliarmus. That's quite enough out of you, Malfoy."
The Serpensortia spell was quite an odd one. Versatile, yes, but mostly as Vulpine had used it against Hermione, to create a massive, fearsome construct. The base form, the one that Malfoy had used, simply Conjured a simulation of a living snake with minimal intelligence and a total need obey any Parseltongue orders. Useful for distraction in one was a Parselmouth: not so much if one was not. Worse than useless if facing a Parselmouth.
~Halt, snake.~ Vulpine ordered in a low hiss. The creature obediently looked at him, and he waved his wand.
"Finite Incantatem." There was a puff of smoke, and the snake was gone. Vulpine shook his head. It was a measure of the difference in control and power when he was compared to Malfoy that he could do that so easily. How disappointing. Where was the thrill he craved? Then again, perhaps expecting it from a thirteen year old was a bit much. But he could still get something from this. Taunting Malfoy still had merit. Carefully, Vulpine crouched and gripped Malfoy by the jaw- gently, not to hurt him, but hard enough to force the blond to look into his eyes. Malfoy lay still, defeated and unable to speak.
"Now," Vulpine said, "I'm sure you'd love to direct some pathetic insults my way, to bluster about Snape or your father, but I don't care. Right now, you're going to listen. And listen well, Draco. I'm tired of you. I'm tired of your attempts at bullying. I'm tired of your laughable delusions of superiority."
Here, Vulpine paused to widen his smile, making it more menacing.
"I'm tired of having to keep myself in check. So, here's the thing. You stop annoying me, and I won't hurt you. Fair? And I'm sure you'll run to Snape with this, but consider, Slytherin: who will be hurt more? Me by another detention, or you by the school hearing how I beat you and your goons and then you went running to Snape about it?"
Vulpine straightened up, leaning away from Malfoy's face, which was alternating between angry pink and sick white. Smirking, Vulpine looked at a still awestruck Neville.
"Shall we return to the Gryffindor Tower, Neville? I don't think that there's any reason to hang around here."
Neville tagged along after him, a little hesitantly, and Vulpine could sense the thoughts swirling through the other Gryffindor. Eventually he sighed and stopped walking.
"Ask." He said calmly. Neville blinked and stuttered, so Vulpine started talking again, guessing the questions by skating the surface of Neville's thoughts.
"I learned those spells because I was tired of Malfoy thinking he was better than me and because I've almost died twice in two years. Not again. Not with Sirius Black supposedly out there. The spells will wear off before too long and Malfoy will have to make his decision. And you could do just as well as me if you tried."
Neville blinked.
"Me? But I'm not…"
Vulpine sighed.
"Neville. You just need more confidence, and you'll be able to perform just fine. You need to…look. I read this somewhere, some advice. 'Do not try to live life without regret, for regret is inevitable. Live life as you are. Live life so that, in the end, you can look back and know that you were not what others made you, but what you made yourself'. I think its good advice. Whether you do is up to you."
That said, Vulpine resumed walking, hearing Neville slowly tread behind him.
The Hogwarts library was always a peaceful place at night. At least, assuming some poor student hadn't decided to sneak into the Restricted Section and wake one of the screaming books. Hermione, well experienced in sneaking, easily entered the darker area of the library in search of Vulpine. She found him sitting cross-legged, in the middle of an aisle, his Invisibility Cloak puddled around him. He would have looked very young and innocent were it not for the dark gleam of avarice in his emerald eyes as he scanned the texts of Dark Magic around him.
"I've missed this place, you know that? I never made good use of it." Vulpine said as she approached- though he spoke quietly. Hermione was pleased- after all, they were in the forbidden section of the Library at night.
"Do I really need to ask why you're here?" Hermione asked dryly. She thought for a second, then spoke extra.
"After all, I would have thought that the Library would no longer offer any texts you had not read."
Vulpine smiled.
"There are always more books to read, Hermione. As it happens, there aren't many books in here on Dark Magic at all, since Dumbledore got rid of them after they 'corrupted' Riddle. Except for this beautiful piece."
Hermione had to admit, the book he handed her was beautiful. Black leather covers, lightly embossed with silver tracing, the title in green.
"A Compendium of Magics." She read. A frown crossed her face.
"Seems innocuous enough to me. Besides, I think I've read this before…"
Vulpine removed the book from her hands, pale fingers tracing the cover.
"You probably read volume one or volume four…maybe two. It's unlikely you've read this one. Why don't you look at the author and see if you can guess the nature of the spells in this treasure?"
Hermione took the book once again, and opened it to the first page, noting how the pages were yellowed, but not decayed. Some powerful magic had gone into preserving this, she surmised. The name of the author, on the first page, was written in elegant, flowing writing, and made her eyes widen.
Salazar Slytherin.
"Is this real?" Hermione asked, her voice hushed. Vulpine nodded.
"As far as I can tell. I've only read a few pages…the attack on Hogwarts damaged it quite badly. The spells tying it to the Library are immense in power- I couldn't remove it, even when it was just scattered pages. A pity, since it's rather interesting. Not entirely practical, but interesting."
"Not practical?" Hermione asked, deciding not to press Vulpine for information on Malfoy. The Dark wizard nodded slowly.
"Mm. For instance…there's a spell in here that causes the victim to turn inside- out. Grisly and impressive, sure, but just not dangerous. I mean, you have to put enough power into it to overcome the innate magical resistance all living creatures have, the increased resistance if against anything magical itself, the incantation is stupidly long…it's a party trick for maniacs."
Hermione tried not to think about how Vulpine would know that much, and instead carefully started to flip through the thick pages. It was…remarkable. All of the spells clearly Dark Arts, but so diverse. It was quite terrifying, actually. She should probably try to stop Vulpine from reading this. Maybe later, she decided as Vulpine started talking again.
"You know, I suspect you're thinking that I'm wanting to learn all these wonderfully cruel, sadistic spells to use. Funny thing is, I don't. If I wanted to play with my food I'd use Cruciatus. I'm learning these for the sake of it- I mean, how many Dark wizards do that?"
Hermione decided not to comment. Vulpine kept talking.
"You know, a lot of people think that Dark magic is addictive. It isn't. Not really. Oh, the Unforgiveables have a certain thrill to them, but I get the same rush whether I've just blown someone's leg off with a Blasting Curse or sliced someone to ribbons with Sectumsempra. That's what I find addictive. The point is, though…it has to be fair. Almost fair. A challenge, at least. I beat Malfoy so, so easily today, and I was just disappointed. What's the point in it all? It's boring. Is this what I came so far for? I would have thought I'd enjoy hurting Malfoy, after everything I did to him. His love. His friends. His peace. His life. I took it all from him. But I don't think I'd do it again. I need something new."
Hermione frowned. She knew Vulpine had killed Malfoy's friends. Hunted the blonde until Draco had almost gone insane from fear, and finally captured, tortured and killed him. But Malfoy's love?
"His love?"
Vulpine grinned, sudden and wolfish.
"Ah. Of course. You don't know…well, this story starts a few months after the death of Voldemort, and I was in The Bloody Cloak, with barely a dozen Galleons to my name."
The Bloody Cloak. Knockturn Alley's answer to the Leaky Cauldron, a small pub frequented by those who skirted the edge of the law and protected by the understanding that it was neutral ground. Even the Purebloods didn't trouble it, because to provoke its clientele against the Ministry was a bad idea. Vulpine would have fitted right in, no questions asked. Supposedly the pub had been started by a man who had spent most of his life and fortune searching for one of the Deathly Hallows- the name apparently came from his final statement regarding the object of his search. An interesting bit of trivia, Hermione supposed.
"Anyway. I was there, contemplating a means of making a living, when who should wander in but Pansy Parkinson, still fuming over her beloved Draco's 'treachery'. And since she was buying, it seemed only right to listen. And the next day, once we had both woken up, she offered me a large sum of money to, ah, remove her competition."
"You slept with Parkinson?" Hermione hissed. Vulpine gave her an amused look.
"You say that like you expect me to be an example of purity." He observed dryly. Hermione was too busy being horrified at the thought that-
"You killed her in cold blood."
"Not three weeks later, yes. I am a terrible person, am I not? Anyway. Dear Pansy wanted Astoria Greengrass pried away from her dear Dragon, and who am I to refuse after such masterful…manipulations?"
The way Vulpine's smirk curled and his eyes twinkled told her there was more to it. She knew that Astoria had supposedly died in an accident. A fall…
"Yes," Vulpine said, obviously skimming her thoughts. "It was easy to get in, pretending to be a drunken uncle who no-one would notice. Or miss, come to think of it. The alarm. All that panic, and poor, poor Astoria took a fatal tumble down some marble stairs. Pansy got what she wanted, I got what I wanted, everybody was happy. Everybody who was me and Parkinson, at least."
Hermione thought about that. Vulpine got paid, yes, but…
"The prison." She said softly. Vulpine smirked more widely.
"She never suspected a thing. Whipped the information from her mind clean as a whistle. And that was the start of it all. Turns out Pansy wasn't quite as quiet as a mouse, so someone heard about Astoria and suddenly I was in demand and getting more popular."
Vulpine looked reflective for a moment, thinking.
"It was nice to have disposable income, as well. I'd missed that. I am fond of luxury, I'll admit."
Hermione didn't respond to that. She might have felt resentment, once, given the conditions that the Resistance had generally endured were less than palatial, but she was over little things like that now. In a way, she actually appreciated Vulpine being honest. It was at least interesting to know some of his thoughts. Perhaps it would help her understand more about why he had followed the path he took.
Vulpine thoughtfully tapped his chin as he kept an eye on Hermione. She hadn't yet let go of the book, which was annoying. He wanted to read it properly. He doubted it would have anything on Horcruxes- surely Salazar would have made one if he had the knowledge- but it was almost certainly worthwhile as a compilation of Dark Arts. Besides, Slytherin had been more than a Dark wizard. Who knew what lore might lurk in those pages? But back to Hermione: she was troubled. He could…hear…it. Like a buzz in his head, that he could make intelligible if he only focused. The work of a moment, and he heard…jealousy. Jealousy. Not what he had expected. But not of him. Not exactly. Jealousy because…oh. Vulpine wanted to laugh, almost laughed in fact, because she was jealous of his assumed relationships. Jealous and sorrowing, because she had lost the person she loved- or thought she loved- so early. If only she knew even half of it. He summoned the last fragment of his empathy, and spoke.
"I would call sorrow misplaced, Hermione. After all, Weasley isn't dead anymore, is he?"
Carefully, Vulpine stood and began to walk towards the exit from the Restricted Section. He could come back for the book, he thought as he paused.
"Consider, however, the chance you have. Was Weasley really what he could be? You have a chance to love again, a chance to mould him into someone…worthy. A chance few get." He said, forcing down the small voice that screamed that Weasley would never be worthy. Not compared to Vulpine. It was idiocy, he knew, a fragment of the lust for power and domination that had led Voldemort into madness and destruction. He would not walk that dark road. Not for any person but himself. He stayed still as Granger spoke- obviously she had heard something in his voice.
"You sound like you have personal experience. Is there someone you want to mould?" Hermione asked, curiosity overcoming her scruples over asking such a delicate question. Vulpine pushed down memories, and gave a smile he knew had a sad edge.
"She could not have gotten any better, Hermione. But she is better off never knowing me. Besides, I'm a villain here…we don't get happily ever afters."
"I'd forgotten how much I hate this place." Sirius said gloomily. Vulpine laughed quietly, looking at the distinctive Gothic building that had appeared before him.
"Don't worry, I empathise. But I need the locket, and this would be an excellent base, even without the Fidelius."
"Hmmph." Sirius grumbled, glaring at the ornate knocker that adorned the door to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Vulpine elbowed him in the side.
"Hurry up. You're a fugitive, remember?"
"Oh. Yeah."
Vulpine resisted the temptation to hit his Godfather as the older man pushed open the door and vanished into the shadows within. The Black family were a bunch of paranoid bastards- no telling what would happen to the poor non-Black who tried to open the door when it was sealed. The scream of fury and yelp that followed made him grin, even as he hurried inside and closed the door. At least the Muggles of the street would now be oblivious.
"YOU! YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE!" screeched the abominable voice. Oh. The old woman. Right. Vulpine had never found a way to get rid of her apart from Fiendfyre, and he suspected killing a whole safehouse to get one painting was a bit excessive. On the other hand, he was only after the locket…Vulpine couldn't restrain his laugh as Sirius jerked back and fell over his own feet. Sirius shot him a filthy glare. So did the portrait, actually. The painting took a deep breath, leaving Vulpine wondering if portraits actually needed to breathe. As it happened he wasn't in the mood to endure the screeching, and waved his wand, causing the curtains by the portrait to snap shut. Another gesture, and silvery conjured wire pierced the edges of the curtain, winding around and holding them shut.
"Excellent." Vulpine commented. There was a sharp crack from behind him, a screech of rage, and Vulpine was suddenly airborne. He twisted in mid-air, shifted to his Animagus and landed considerably more elegantly than his human form would have. Sirius' roar halted his transformation back.
"KREACHER! Stop!"
The wizened House-Elf froze, a look of rage plastered on his features. Vulpine resumed human form, smirking.
"Got the drop on me. Not bad." He commented nonchalantly. He almost liked Kreacher. Vicious, sometimes sadistic, nearly rabid in defence of his 'Master'…very useful. And getting a House-Elf on side would make a lot of things much easier. Dobby was a second option of course, but the other Elf had a loyalty to Dumbledore that Vulpine distrusted. Sirius gave him a dour look.
"Have you got the Cabinet?"
"Why do you doubt me so, Godfather mine?" he asked, pulling the shrunken Vanishing Cabinet stolen from Borgin from his pocket.
"Best not set it up here. The kitchen, maybe? And you'll need to find another wand."
"Another wand? What's wrong with this one?"
"It doesn't suit you. It's mine. It still has the Trace on it. I'll get your own wand finished fairly soon, but you need a wand that can't be detected."
Sirius blanched.
"But if this wand has the Trace on it, and I used it-"
"You can relax. The Trace is hardly monitored during the school year. It doesn't monitor at all in areas of high magical density like, say, Diagon Alley or Hogwarts. How do you think the Ministry doesn't have the sensors going off constantly throughout the school year? No way they could just turn it off, the monitor is ancient. But if you keep using my old wand the risk of getting caught keeps going up. So grab a Black wand and grit your teeth."
Sirius whined a bit, but Vulpine paid him no attention.
"You want to live here, Padfoot?"
"Actually, I'd rather stay in the Chamber." Sirius admitted. Vulpine raised an eyebrow, so the Marauder elaborated.
"This place isn't really safe, you know. Not like the Chamber. Besides…I don't want to have to travel through the Cabinet every time I want to speak to you."
Vulpine had to admit, Vanishing Cabinet travel was quite nauseating. Plus, it would make it easier to keep smuggling food to Sirius, and Kreacher would be able to clean up the house with no-one around to cause him trouble. On the other hand…how to make Grimmauld Place secure? The Black defences were formidable but not infallible, and the Cabinet meant that the Chamber would not be impossible to breach anymore. Then again, if they could get Kreacher on-side, the Elf could keep watch and whip the Cabinet away if danger threatened. In that case…
"Alright, Padfoot. But we need what we came for- you might as well put the Cabinet in the attic. Hmm…I might be able to set up a Fidelius, but it'll take time. A lot of time. Couple weeks, probably."
Sirius shrugged.
"I can manage that long I'm sure. So, where is this locket?"
Vulpine led him into the drawing room, and wrenched open the cupboard doors. Almost immediately something leapt out at him- a pair of tweezers he thought, but he batted it away and pointed his wand while it was still airborne.
"Reducto."
The crunching blast made him smile.
"Can you at least look where you're blasting?" Sirius hissed, sounding shaken. Vulpine kept smiling, though Sirius couldn't see it.
"Where would be the fun in that?"
He heard Sirius give a little whine much like an unhappy puppy as he reached his arm into the cabinet and found a heavy locket.
"There you are." Vulpine said in a tone of satisfaction as he dragged the Locket of Salazar Slytherin into the dim light. He turned, the chain wrapped around his hand, and saw Sirius watching the locket carefully, with Kreacher stood just behind him. The House Elf was wide eyed and looking horrified.
"Do you know what this is, Padfoot?" he asked. Sirius raised a ragged eyebrow.
"One of Voldemort's Horcruxes, right? You didn't tell me any more."
"I suppose I should correct that, then. This is- allegedly- the Locket of Salazar Slytherin himself, pawned to Burke of Borgin and Burkes for a pittance. It then went to an old woman named Hepizabah Smith-"
"Hepizabah?" Sirius said, sceptical. Vulpine frowned.
"I think I got that wrong…it was something like that. Long time ago when I heard about this. Anyway, Tom Riddle murdered the old woman and took the locket, claiming it as his birth right and turning it into, of course, a piece of Dark Magic. Now, there is a cave on the south coast of England which Tom Riddle used to terrorise some of the other children in his orphanage when he was young, and he used it to hide the Locket. For some reason, though he came up with a potion to protect the potion and a bowl that could only be emptied of potion by drinking, he decided to fill the bowl and only then add the Locket. Hmm. Or, of course, he could have simply found the potion…it would explain the children being terrified…"
"What did the potion do?" Sirius asked quietly. Vulpine gave Kreacher a brief glance, seeing that the Elf had a strange, intense expression.
"It causes intense, horrifying hallucinations. When Dumbledore and I went to retrieve the Locket, he drank it. It was quite unsettling. Now, Riddle decided that he needed a House-Elf to drink the potion so he could put the Locket in there, and so he turned to your brother.
"Regulus?" Sirius said, sounding saddened and surprised. Vulpine nodded.
"Riddle didn't tell Regulus what he wanted a House-Elf for, but the House of Black was all too happy to oblige. And that's where Kreacher came in."
Vulpine knew that Sirius didn't like Kreacher, knew he generally regarded the Elf as an unwanted, unpleasant reminder of a past he'd rather forget. Therefore, even in the rather skewed opinion of Vulpine, it was to Sirius' credit that he went pale at the implications.
"However…Voldemort underestimated the power of a House-Elf who feels strongly towards his master, and Kreacher was able to escape the trap that follows the potion. He told Regulus all about it, and Regulus than realised what the Locket was…he took Kreacher to the cave and retrieved the Locket, giving Kreacher orders to destroy it. From what I understand…that was the last order Regulus ever gave."
Sirius bowed his head slowly, and Vulpine suspected he saw a brief glitter of tears at the corners of his eyes. Very gently, Vulpine placed his hand on the older man's shoulder in a gesture of comfort before looking at Kreacher.
"You can speak." He said quietly. Evidently he was close enough to Sirius that the Elf decided to reply, his croaky voice filled with emotion.
"You will destroy the Locket?"
Vulpine looked into the large eyes of the Elf.
"I…not right away. I need it. But yes, it will be destroyed, I promise you."
The Elf looked at him suspiciously, and then did something Vulpine didn't expect. He held out a wizened, narrow hand, and croaked out a single word.
"Swear!"
Vulpine gazed at the Elf for a moment, then nodded.
"Sirius. Bind us." He ordered, taking the hand of the Elf. Sirius looked at him, surprised.
"Are you-"
"I'm sure."
Obediently, Sirius pressed the tip of his wand to the interlinked hands, and Vulpine began to speak.
"I, Romulus Vulpine, Harry Potter, swear to Kreacher, House Elf of the House of Black,"
A blazing band delicately encircled the hands as the spell began. Vulpine could just faintly feel the heat on his fingers.
"I will uphold the last order of Regulus Black, and fulfil his wish,"
A second band, the heat increased.
"And destroy the Locket of Salazar Slytherin and the soul fragment within. On my life, though the world itself turn against me, it shall be so."
One final band, and Vulpine felt the heat spread uncomfortably through his bones, testing him. It was impossible to make an Unforgiveable Oath without intending to carry out the Oath, you would die the instant the Oath was complete. The only advantage was that there was rarely a time limit. Kreacher released his grip as the flame faded.
"I will prepare the House for Master." He said curtly, and vanished with a crack. Vulpine turned to see Sirius looking at him questioningly.
"Necessary sacrifices." He said quietly. Sirius nodded slowly.
Hermione walked along the seventh floor corridor, absently turning a piece of parchment in her hand. It had been on her bed, which was…well, a little creepy, but since it was a message from Vulpine she wasn't entirely surprised. It had simply said, 'ROR. 11. - Vulpine'. She had decided to find out what was going on, though she was determined to go in neutral. No sense in being too trusting or too antagonistic. She carefully pushed open the door, and walked into an astonishingly pleasant scene. Thick carpets, comfortable armchairs and a roaring fire greeted her. Vulpine himself was sprawled in an armchair, doodling in a book.
"Hermione. Like the domesticity?" asked Vulpine. Hermione didn't answer, but she quietly walked over to the other chair and sat down.
"What's are you writing about?" she asked, deciding to start with small talk. Vulpine smiled lightly, setting the book down.
"It's a blank book that I'm putting my wand crafting information in. You see, I'm testing the use of Basilisk components in wands, among others. Of course, wands that aren't personalised would never use such ingredients, but that works out since I could never match Ollivander for quality or quantity of general wands. Not for a long time, at least."
Hermione raised an eyebrow in polite surprise. In truth, she was quite pleased that Vulpine seemed to be moving on from his old…profession…and embracing a new one. And, she had to admit, a new wand maker might be good. Ollivander was getting old after all, and she didn't think he had any family. Vulpine leaned back, pulling something from his pocket and spinning it around dextrous fingers. Hermione squinted, and saw that it was a plain silver ring.
"Wait," she said, leaning forward. "Is that?"
"A Horcrux? No. It is the same ring that was a Horcrux in the ex-future, though. From this room- call it a souvenir." Vulpine responded. Hermione kept her eyes on the twirling, spinning silver band and wondered if Vulpine would really not recreate his Horcrux. She dismissed the thought and looked at Vulpine's face.
"What did you call me here for?" she asked. Vulpine smiled, lid the ring back and then tossed it to her. Purely on instinct she caught it, every Resistance born instinct immediately screaming at her, but nothing happened. The ring felt heavier than she expected, and she looked down and sucked it a sudden breath. The ring sat on her palm was not plain silver: it was heavy gold, set with a large black stone.
"Is this the Gaunt ring?" she asked sharply. Vulpine inclined his head, still smiling and beginning to play with the silver ring again, producing it from a sleeve with what she guessed must be sleight of hand.
"It would be, yes. Don't get excited, it's a purely platonic gift."
Hermione frowned at him, then sighed.
"What happened to using it as collateral against me and Dumbledore?"
"Snape and Dumbledore." Corrected Vulpine. He flicked the silver ring into the air, caught it, started spinning it again before continuing.
"I decided it wasn't really needed. I am, unquestionably, the subject of the Prophecy. Nobody else can defeat Voldemort, so I'm safe until then. So I don't need the Ring. However, I would quite like that nifty Elder Wand just in case, but I'd prefer not to possess all three Deathly Hallows at once."
Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly. The Deathly Hallows. She wasn't entirely keen to talk about them, but she supposed she would have to. Besides, she was intrigued. Vulpine didn't seem like the kind of person to cast such power aside.
"Why wouldn't you want to be 'Master of Death'?" she asked carefully, hiding most of her scepticism. Vulpine must have seen through it, because he laughed.
"Master of Death. Don't tell me you believe that? Even if it was true, I wouldn't want it. I suspect that eternity would be a torture. Once my work is done I'll let Death come when he will. There's no use in living if you can't die."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, almost deciding not to comment on the inconsistency of making multiple Horcruxes while claiming that he wasn't afraid of death. Almost.
"That doesn't sound quite right, coming from a Horcrux creator." She noted. Vulpine still smiled.
"Maybe. Hypocrisy is the heart and soul of humanity. But the thing is, mine aren't like the ones Voldemort created. I can re-absorb mine easily, and once I'd done what I wanted to I would have. Now that I only have to kill Voldemort, it makes it easy."
Hermione could just about see the logic in that. She thought about her next question, but Vulpine spoke first.
"Did you ever use the Stone after you took it from me?" he asked. Hermione looked at him, blinking.
"Took it from you?" she asked. Vulpine raised both brows, then laughed.
"Lovegood didn't tell you? Oh, the little minx. She picked my pocket when I was in St Mungo's, going after Theodore Nott. Pinched it right out of my robes."
Hermione frowned.
"You let her do it. Besides, were did you get the Stone from?"
Vulpine gained an introspective expression.
"You recall the Snitch Dumbledore gave me in his will? In there. It had some damn code in it or something, but in the end I just broke it with a rock and pulled the ring out. Easy-ish."
"Doesn't that mean that you had all the Hallows at one time? Wouldn't you know about the Master of Death thing then?"
Vulpine shook his head.
"No. I had them all, but I wasn't master of them all. You see, the Elder Wand that I took from Voldemort obeys the one who took it from its previous Master. Voldemort was never its master. Dumbledore was."
"But Snape killed Dumbledore, so…"
"No. Snape cast the fatal spell, but he did not take possession of the wand. Won, Hermione, does not have to be with blood."
Hermione frowned, thinking, and then the idea struck.
"Malfoy." She whispered. Vulpine grinned.
"Spot on. And by the time I defeated Malfoy, I had lost the Stone, so…"
"You were never master of the Hallows at the same time." Hermione murmured. She looked down at the stone and ring, shining dully in her hand.
"Why don't you think that the Master of Death myth is real?" she asked quietly. Vulpine tapped his chin.
"The story." He said eventually. "The story that is the source of the myth…it says that three brothers met Death at a river, and using their wands they crossed and did not drown, so Death was angry. To be frank this already sound dubious, because Death shouldn't really be a malevolent being, but moving on…the first brother received a wand that would make him unbeatable in a duel, but not out of it. And so he went to Death. The second brother received the Stone to bring back loved ones, but only as pale, pained shadows that agonised him until he committed suicide. And so the second brother went to Death. And the last…the last was gifted a piece of Death's own Invisibility Cloak, which he used to evade that pale spectre until his time had come, and he greeted Death as an old friend. No mention of mastering Death there. Just a fable, without a clear moral."
Hermione nodded slowly, knowing that what he said was right. Vulpine talked again.
"And, of course, since all three Hallows were required to fuel the time portal, breaking them up and hiding them is only sensible."
"How did you- oh. Luna."
"Luna." Vulpine agreed placidly.
"You know, she was a bit of a menace to secrecy."
"Well. I won't argue, but I wasn't going to be telling anyone." Vulpine said quietly. He leaned back in his seat, looking tired. Hermione looked down at the Ring again, and hesitantly asked a delicate question.
"Did you ever use the stone?"
Vulpine stiffened slightly, his eyes seeming to mist in thoughtfulness.
"I…did not. I thought about it," he admitted, a look of weariness stealing across his features for a brief moment, "But I decided that it was best to let the dead rest. Besides, I was…afraid. I did not want to see my parents knowing that they would disapprove of what I had become. Another price to pay. And once there was someone I wanted to say goodbye to, someone who had accepted me, someone I would have used the stone for, it was too late."
Vulpine kept his expression more or less neutral, but Hermione could see a wealth of sorrow in his eyes and it was a struggle not to reach out to him. Another reminder that, despite the uncaring exterior, there was a badly damaged soul within.
"Who was she?" Hermione asked softly, asking after the one who he had said accepted him."
Slowly Vulpine stood and walked towards the door. He paused, very briefly, to deliver parting words.
"It doesn't matter now, Hermione. You know…of all the demons that beset humanity, sometimes I think the most insidious is Hope."
And with those words he was gone.