Thank you again for all the reviews! This is the end of the story, but I'll probably write a sequel someday.

Part Six

"We'll get you all the training you need, Harry. Whatever you need."

Harry leaned against Sirius and said nothing. The pain in his scar was calmer than it had been, but still blinding. This time, he had seen a gathering where Voldemort had put an Unspeakable under the Imperius and, after only getting vague answers from him as to some specific object Voldemort was after, had tortured him to death. Harry's mind writhed under the images.

At least it had happened when he was staying at Grimmauld Place for the Easter holiday. Harry didn't even want to imagine what it would have been like, trying to deal with this on his own or with just Ron and Hermione and Draco at Hogwarts.

"We didn't want Snape to teach me Occlumency, though," Harry mumbled into Sirius's robes. They were in the sitting room downstairs, and Kreacher had so far brought in mulled cider, pumpkin juice, tea, Firewhisky, several meat pasties that smelled delicious even though it was the middle of the night, and biscuits. He seemed to think food was a barrier against the visions.

"And you don't want Dumbledore poking through your head for the same reason. I know." Sirius's hand smoothed gently down his face. "It's okay, Harry. We do have one more teacher."

"Who's that?"

Harry hoped Sirius would say Andromeda or something like that—it was beyond evident that it wasn't going to be Sirius himself—but instead he hesitated. Harry pushed himself back from his father and wiped off the blood trickling from his scar. "Who?" he repeated.

Sirius sighed. "My grandfather."

"Uh, Sirius, your grandfather's dead. And you told me you were opposed to necromancy."

"Yeah, James and I tried that once in our sixth year, and it didn't go so well." Sirius visibly winced. "Seriously, Inferi do not wash off. I had to burn that robe. But my grandfather also has a portrait."

"And I never met him?"

"He's, uh. A special kind of portrait."

Arcturus Black was indeed a special kind of portrait.

Sirius had led Harry up to the roof of Grimmauld Place and then held his wand up and concentrated for a long moment. Then he'd murmured a few words that included "Occlumency" and "need" and would have sounded like a prayer if Harry hadn't known exactly what he was doing. And then he had reached into the air and pulled down a set of steps that hadn't existed a moment ago, leading up to a trapdoor that didn't exist until he touched it.

Harry climbed up the stairs, feeling his eyes go wide. It only got worse when they stepped into the apparently hidden fourth floor of Grimmauld Place.

All around them stretched stone walls that appeared as solid as any below, but as blank and forbidding as the dungeon walls at Hogwarts. The only things on them were torch sconces, empty except for a blaze of light too bright for Harry to look at directly. No doors lined the hall, but there were portrait frames.

Most of them were empty, blackened and scorched. Harry looked at them uneasily as Sirius led him past them with a hand on his shoulder.

"Not far now," Sirius muttered, after they had turned a few corners. They were passing portraits now that had sleeping people in them, but Harry didn't see anyone awake. All of them did seem to have dark hair and some of the Black family features Harry had got used to seeing in a mirror, though.

When the corridor turned one more time, they reached a dead end. There was only one wall, and this one was blank except for a portrait, the first awake one they had seen. The man in it leaned forwards and stared at them as they came closer.

"Sirius. I never thought to see you again."

"Hello, Grandfather," Sirius murmured. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "This is my son, Harry, and he needs help with Occlumency."

Arcturus Black snorted. He had the same dark hair and grey eyes that were repeated again and again in the Blacks (Harry was kind of glad he had his mum's green eyes, himself). "Yes, that's what you said. But you left out all the interesting parts, boy, as usual. Why does he have a curse scar on his forehead? Why does he have a Horcrux attached to his soul?"

Harry and Sirius stared at each other. Sirius was the first one to speak. "He has a what?"

It took a lot of explanation—and it took a lot to get Sirius calmed down enough so he could give the explanation—for Harry to understand what a Horcrux was. And when he did, he'd thrown up everything Kreacher had got him to eat for his midnight snack, and he sat the next morning pushing around food on his breakfast plate.

A piece of soul. He was carrying the soul of the bastard who had killed his mother and his adoptive father and played a part in his dad going to prison for twelve years.

"It's all right," Sirius whispered, for the twelfth hundredth time or so since Arcturus had told them about the Horcrux. Harry held back the urge to scream at him. It was not fucking all right, but it also wasn't Sirius's fault. "He—there are ways to destroy them. Grandfather said. And it might even be easier to destroy a soul-piece attached to a living human."

"You want me to take a basilisk fang and stab myself?" Harry snarled. "Should we have Fawkes come and hang around just in case?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

Harry managed to restrain himself from screaming again. He didn't. He shook his head.

He just wished he didn't feel so dirty. He'd taken a shower after he'd vomited, scrubbing hard at his hair and wishing for the first time that it wasn't so long and didn't provide so much space for dirt to get lost in. And then he'd stood in front of the mirror and stared at his stupid scar and wondered what it would take to get the piece of soul out.

A hand landed on his, and Harry started and looked up. Sirius was watching him with a haggard face from across the table. For the first time in a long time, Harry felt he was looking at an Azkaban escapee.

"I promise, we will fix this," Sirius said, and squeezed his hand. "Grandfather Arcturus said the first step would be trying to find another Horcrux and analyze it to figure out how it works and how similar it is to yours. I know you said the diary was destroyed, but Grandfather reckons there must be more than that. I was talking to him last night after you finally went to bed," Sirius added, because Harry had opened his mouth to protest that the portrait hadn't said anything like that. "He said that a piece of soul would never normally be able to attach to an—an object—that already had a soul in it. That's why you can't make a Horcrux out of something that someone's already made their Horcrux. So Voldemort's soul must have been unstable already, so unstable it was an accident and the piece of soul in you is very small. There must be others. We'll find them, Harry. And destroy them. And learn from them."

Harry nodded. His eyes were drooping because of his lack of sleep, and when Kreacher popped up beside the table and looked at Harry, he said promptly, "Master Harry is going to be going to bed and sleeping. Then he will come down the stairs and he will eat the nice breakfast Kreacher made for him."

Harry hesitated, looking at Sirius.

"He's right," Sirius said, and looked a little disgusted to be agreeing with Kreacher, but his face was resolute. "You won't help us by staying up when you're too tired to stay up. And it's more important that you get some good sleep while you can."

Harry nodded and dragged himself up the stairs. Walburga's portrait started to shriek when he passed, but Harry turned and glared at her, and she shut up without him even having to say anything.

Harry flung himself down in his bed and closed his eyes. Kreacher popped in, probably to make sure that he'd gone to bed, but popped out again without a grumble while Harry lay there, mind whirling.

I have a piece of his soul in me.

Is this one of those secrets that Dumbledore didn't want me to find out? Does he know? Does Voldemort even suspect? Does Snape know? How many Horcruxes does he have?

But at last the pressure of the questions, and the reminder that they wouldn't be able to find out everything in one day, soothed Harry off to sleep.

"A Horcrux?" Draco sounded strangled. "That's one of the worst pieces of Dark magic there is. I've heard of them. They're awful."

Harry nodded and leaned his head on Draco's shoulder. He'd told Hermione and Ron most of what he and Sirius had found out, but not the exact name of the Dark Art, or the details of it that Arcturus Black's portrait had shared with them. Harry was a little afraid that they would go running to Dumbledore if they thought the secret was bad enough.

Draco was both more likely to know the kind of Dark Arts Harry was talking about, and less likely to think Dumbledore was an authority to trust.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Draco whispered, and smoothed a hand across Harry's forehead. Harry sighed when Draco touched his scar. It felt soothing and cool, as if Draco's skin was actually less hot than his was. Maybe it was. "We'll find a way out of this. Family is important." He repeated it like a charm against some terrible happenstance. "I promise."

Harry didn't know if he actually drifted off to sleep leaning against Draco, but maybe he did. That was all right. They were out near the lake, and nothing was going to bother them.

Harry opened his eyes. Then he sat up and fumbled for his wand and glasses. Someone was standing at the end of his bed, on the bed, within the curtains. Someone who had managed to sneak into the Gryffindor dormitories. That was bad.

But it took him a second to get his glasses on, and in that time, someone who really meant him harm could have cursed him. Harry took a deep breath when he realized it was Kreacher standing there, a few hairs quivering in his ears. "Kreacher?" he asked, and hid a yawn behind his hand. "What's going on?"

"Kreacher was wondering," Kreacher began, and stopped.

"It's okay," Harry encouraged him, once he began to realize that Kreacher probably wouldn't speak again without it. "You can say what you came to say."

Kreacher stared into Harry's face again, and then bobbed his head and said, "Master Harry is not being Master Regulus's son, but he is looking like Master Regulus." He held out the small box he was carrying. "Master Regulus is leaving this with Kreacher. He is saying…he is saying…" Tears were quivering on Kreacher's lashes. "He is saying for Kreacher to destroy it, but Kreacher is not knowing how."

Frowning, Harry opened the box, and recoiled. The sensitivity to Dark magic that had let him feel the Dark Mark on Nott's arm last summer had increased, or the golden locket in the box was a really strong example of it.

Harry took a deep breath and looked at Kreacher. "Why do you think I can destroy this, Kreacher?"

And Kreacher sat down on the bed and explained about how the locket had belonged to the Dark Lord, and he had heard Master Regulus use the word "Horcrux" to describe it.

"Poor Regulus."

Sirius sounded choked up. Harry wrapped his arms around him. They were once again meeting in the cave outside Hogsmeade, this time with Kreacher having popped them both there instead of one of Andromeda's house-elves. Harry had made up an excuse the next day about being sick and wanting to spend time sleeping in bed, then had Kreacher cast an illusion of him there.

He felt bad about fooling Ron and Hermione, but there was no time to waste before he could meet Sirius and tell him what had happened.

"He died a hero," Sirius whispered, holding onto Harry tighter. That was fine with Harry. In his opinion, Sirius couldn't hold on too tight. "And all this time, I thought he was just a slimy Death Eater. He—" Sirius choked up again.

Harry hugged him and held him. Then he sat back with a sigh. "Do you think you'll be able to take the locket to Arcturus's portrait and have him study it? Or help him study it, so you can recognize the other Horcruxes?"

"Yes." Sirius was already wiping away the tears, and his face was settling into the iron lines Harry had got to know so well when they were talking about Umbridge. "He said that he would know one when he saw it. Well, he knew your scar, didn't he? But the kinds of rituals we need to conduct are the kind that build on each other and result in the destruction of the Horcrux at the end. And we can't destroy you that way, of course."

"Thanks for saying that, Dad."

Sirius looked genuinely shocked for a second, and then he sighed. "You're still too used to people being willing to sacrifice you," he murmured, gathering Harry close. "Well, it won't happen this time."

Harry bowed his head and listened to the pounding of Sirius's heart.

This time, the pain that gripped and shook Harry through his scar was what he imagined a rat would feel like having its neck broken by a dog. He gripped the edges of his desk and bowed his head.

Trust it to happen in the middle of his History of Magic OWL exam, too, he had time to think, before he was taken away.

He was in a dim room lit with the small glows of objects on large shelves. Voldemort was standing at the end of one aisle, and Harry could see the number 97 on it. Voldemort turned and looked Harry directly in the eye, and Harry screamed as his scar burned harder, but also because Sirius was crouched on the floor by Voldemort's feet, covered with chains and with his eyes bright and blank.

"Come to me," Voldemort said, his voice ringing in Harry's head. "Or he will do worse than die." He twitched his wand, and Sirius screamed, and Harry felt the tremors of the Cruciatus in his own body.

Harry woke with a scream, and found himself lying on the floor next to his desk, with more than one person standing around in concern above him. Hermione was one, and an elderly woman Harry had learned was called Griselda Marchbanks was another.

"Mr. Potter? Are you quite all right?"

Harry staggered to his feet, one hand clapped to his scar. From everyone's expressions, he knew it was probably bleeding. "Fine," he gasped, and he turned around and ran out of the room, ignoring Madam Marchbanks's shouts behind him. He didn't care if he failed the History OWL.

He cared about making sure his dad was okay.

"Kreacher!"

Harry had had no idea whether he could summon Kreacher from inside Hogwarts. The other times, Kreacher had either shown up on his own or had met him at a prearranged time to take him to the cave. But Harry stood in the middle of the Gryffindor dormitory and shouted with all his heart.

Maybe his fear made the difference, or how badly he wanted it. Kreacher appeared in front of Harry, his eyes wide. "Master Harry is calling?"

"Where is Dad?" Harry demanded, and heard a sharp choke in his voice. He fought it down. Voldemort might have sent him a false vision. He might have learned that their connection existed and decided to turn it on Harry. Because of his obsession with the Ministry, Harry couldn't discount that.

Kreacher frowned. "Kreacher is not knowing. Master Sirius left this morning. There had been a sighting of Mistress Bella."

Harry hissed. Bellatrix Lestrange had been freed from Azkaban—something the Ministry had tried its best to keep quiet, given Fudge's constant denials of Voldemort being back, but had been forced to release at last—and Sirius had recently become obsessed with the idea that it was the Black family's responsibility to take care of her. He was responding in his Regulus disguise to every rumor. "Listen to me," Harry said, words tumbling out. "Can you take me to the Ministry of Magic? Can you stay with me? Can you make us invisible?"

Kreacher blinked and blinked. Then he said, "Kreacher be doing all those things."

"Good," Harry said, and reached out and grabbed Kreacher's hand. He would be taking the most precautions he could, and going as carefully and quietly as he could. He could go in and see if Sirius and Voldemort were there, and go right back out again if they weren't. But he had to at least look.

"Kreacher, where was the sighting of Bellatrix?" he asked, before they disappeared.

"The Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic," Kreacher croaked.

Harry took a breath that hurt his throat as they vanished.

It turned out that Kreacher couldn't take him directly to the Department of Mysteries. He said something vague about how he'd never seen it and didn't know the "smell" of it. But when Harry described the room in his vision, Kreacher closed his eyes and stood still for a moment by the telephone box that apparently protected the entrance to the Ministry, then nodded.

"There is a place like that," he said. "Master Harry and Kreacher shall go by small hops, towards the place."

Harry gripped Kreacher's hand and winced in discomfort as they disappeared and appeared again. This was in the middle of a large room with lots of soft light, but which seemed to be an experimental potions lab of some sort. Cauldrons were boiling and bubbling by themselves on the tables, surrounded by ingredients Harry had never seen before.

Harry shook his head. "This isn't it. Take me further."

"Kreacher knows that is not it," Kreacher muttered, and popped them on.

After going through one hall thick with mirrors, another one that looked as though it was the shore of an upside-down pond with water flowing along the ceiling and grass growing beneath their feet, and a huge library that looked as it had held mostly History books, they appeared in a room with a tank in the middle. Harry stared at the swimming brains there and tried not to feel ill.

"The door is the next one," Kreacher panted, between harsh breaths. "This is—as close as Kreacher can go."

"You've done well," Harry murmured. "We'll walk from here. Make us invisible, please, Kreacher."

His hand thinned and seemed to fill with a wavering, flesh-colored smoke before disappearing slowly. Harry didn't feel any different, but it was creepy to watch. He shivered and tried to distract himself by staring at the door that led into the room where the soft glow was coming from. Silence thrummed around them.

"Is it weird that there wouldn't be Unspeakables around in the middle of the day?" Harry whispered to Kreacher as they walked towards the room.

"How is Kreacher to be knowing?" the elf grumbled. "Master Harry is being quiet."

Harry nodded and took Kreacher's advice. It wouldn't help to be invisible if Voldemort could just hear them.

They stepped into the room, and there were the long shelves with thousands of glowing orbs on them, the way Harry had seen. He began walking in the direction of the larger numbers on the shelves, listening intently all the while. He still couldn't hear anything. The intense feeling of magic in the air was like the feeling of air before a thunderstorm, but didn't make any sound.

At last they reached row 97. Harry looked around, sweeping his head slowly back and forth. He didn't know if Kreacher's spell would work like a Disillusionment Charm where it would still be possible to see someone if they made little motions while wearing it, but he didn't want to find out the hard way.

All quiet. No one here.

It was a trick. It was a trap.

That didn't explain where Sirius was, though.

Harry kept his voice to a whisper as he asked, "Kreacher, can you sense my dad anywhere?" Kreacher had said something once about being able to sense Black family members. That was how he had known even before the Floo opened when Andromeda and Tonks came over for Christmas.

Kreacher said nothing, but his hand tightened in Harry's for a second. Then he whispered hoarsely, "Kreacher is being to sense three of the House of Black."

Three.

Sirius was here. And Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry let his wand drop into his hand.

A cackling voice called down the aisle, "Is Little Baby Black ready?"

Harry turned to face Lestrange.

She was standing halfway down the aisle, her eyes wild with excitement. She had probably had on a Disillusionment Charm or Invisibility Cloak, Harry thought, trying to cover how afraid he was. His own Cloak would have been a great thing to have brought, but he hadn't thought to, and it probably wouldn't have mattered. Lestrange was looking right at Harry even though he and Kreacher were still invisible.

"Little Baby Blaaaack," she crooned. Harry was startled to realize how much she looked like Andromeda; if not for the fact that Andromeda's face was a little thinner and her hair was brown instead of black, they would have looked as much like twins as Fred and George did.

Well, and Andromeda didn't have an insane expression on her face most of the time. There was that, too.

Kreacher clenched his hand around Harry's as if he wanted to Apparate him away, but Harry ignored that and dropped the elf's hand, watching as invisibility fell from them like leaves and he could see himself again. He had lost one father. He didn't intend to lose another. And he still had no idea where Sirius was at the moment or what condition he was in.

Lestrange's face cracked into a wider smile still when Harry became visible, one that looked as if it had to hurt her cheeks. "There's the little baby!" she said. "Cousin Sirius's darling baby boy!"

Harry looked at her carefully, but he couldn't see anything in her eyes that resembled the look he had seen so often in Cissa's and less often in Andromeda's. If family was important to her, she'd probably replaced it with loyalty to Voldemort. Or maybe she didn't care about who she was fighting, as long as it was an enemy.

"Where's my dad?" he asked. He hated how tight his voice was, but he couldn't help it.

"Oh, he's safe. Probably." Lestrange giggled and twirled her wand in her hands. "Dear Cousin Sirius can be perfectly safe once the little child retrieves the prophecy."

Harry blinked and glanced at the orbs on the shelves beside him. He never would have taken them as prophecies. Yes, they shone and had names on them, now that he looked closer, but so what? They could have been Pensieve memories or Potions experiments by Unspeakables for all he knew.

"What prophecy?" he asked.

"The one with your name on it, little Potter," said Lestrange, and pointed with her wand. This time, when he followed her gesture, Harry saw that there was one orb near the end of the row that did have his name on it, along with initials he didn't know and the name "Dark Lord." He narrowed his eyes.

"Why doesn't Voldemort come get it?"

Lestrange hissed at him, although if she was a Parselmouth, Harry hadn't ever heard Sirius mention it. "The baby bastard dares to speak His name?" she asked, the capital letter perfectly audible. "The baby bastard is a bold baby who perhaps should not be asking so many questions."

Her voice went up into a rasping shout at the end, and Harry winced. The slight distraction meant he was looking around Lestrange's side when he saw a flurry of movement, and then the flurry of movement changed and dissolved, and a huge dog rushed forwards, jaws gaping, and leaped at Lestrange.

She went down with a shriek, and Harry grabbed Kreacher and dragged him out of the way. He was sweating and shaking, and he wanted so badly to curse someone that he barely resisted it, but Padfoot was rolling over and over on the floor with Lestrange, and Harry couldn't get a clear shot.

"Kreacher!" Harry shouted. "Help him!"

Kreacher stared at him with glassy eyes. "Kreacher is not allowed to act against members of the House," he whispered.

Harry cursed and dropped Kreacher's hand. Then he cast a spell that Sirius had taught him for a prank, one he'd enjoyed using on Bulstrode a few weeks ago when she'd started muttering about how Harry was a bastard and the son of a whore in his hearing. "Nodo capillum!"

Lestrange's hair writhed, soaring upwards and growing to the point that it looked like knotted ropes. Then it lashed around her, binding her arms to her sides and her legs together. Padfoot leaped clear with a startled bark.

Harry relaxed with a long sigh. That had been what he was counting on. The spell was supposed to tangle hair, not fur. He hadn't known if the distinction would hold, but it obviously had.

Padfoot shook and transformed back into Sirius in mid-shake. He rushed over and grabbed Harry, holding him close. "What are you doing here?" he muttered.

"Voldemort me a vision," Harry choked into his robes. "He was holding you here and he was going to torture you unless I came. Then I called Kreacher and he said you were gone because there'd been a sighting of Lestrange, and I was so worried—"

"I know," Sirius said, his hands smoothing up and down Harry's back. "I'm sorry, Harry. I just thought that the House of Black should be the one to take out the rubbish it produced." He stared at Lestrange with such hatred in his eyes that Harry was reminded of the way he had looked at Pettigrew.

Harry tugged on his arms. "Look, can we take her to some public area of the Ministry and dump her there for the Aurors to find? We can't stay here."

"Yeah. You're right." Sirius glanced around as though he expected Voldemort to come charging up at any moment, which wasn't actually that far from what Harry thought might happen. In a few seconds, he'd cast the illusion that made him look like Regulus across his face, and then he and Harry were Levitating Lestrange's bound form behind them as they made for the door. About halfway there, Sirius got tired of her shrieking curses and Stunned her.

Once they were outside the room, which Sirius said was called the Hall of Prophecies, Kreacher could pop them to the Atrium, and they left Lestrange there and went home. The whole time, Harry leaned against the silent warmth of his father's presence next to him.

"Are you all right, Harry? You left the History exam rather abruptly yesterday."

Harry smiled gently at Dumbledore, who was sitting across his desk and looking rather agitated. Sirius put a hand onto his shoulder from behind, and that gave Harry the strength to go ahead and say what he needed to say.

"Yes, sir. Voldemort sent me a vision that he was holding Sirius captive in the Department of Mysteries, and I couldn't find him when I tried to communicate with him, so I went there." No need for Dumbledore to find out that the communication and the travel were both courtesy of Kreacher. "When I went there, I found Bellatrix Lestrange instead, who tried to make me fetch a prophecy down from a certain shelf."

Dumbledore's face crumpled. "Ah, Harry," he breathed, and buried his head in his hands. "I had hoped to keep you from facing up to that burden for a while yet."

Harry breathed a little bit easier. He had wondered if the secret Dumbledore was keeping from him centered on the prophecy or the Horcruxes, and it would be better if it was the prophecy. That was knowledge that could be shared or denied, but finding and destroying the Horcruxes was something Dumbledore might more actively meddle in. Harry and Sirius didn't intend to share that information until they had more of a plan for dealing with the one in Harry's scar.

"I know, sir," Harry said. "But that means you probably know the prophecy. And I think it's time for you to share it."

"Are you certain, Harry? Once you know this, you cannot go back."

Harry shook his head. "I already can't go back, sir. Voldemort's out there. He learned enough about the connection between us to try and lure me into a trap. This won't make any difference except helping me."

"I agree," Sirius said. "And I knew there was something about a prophecy, Albus. I just never thought it was about Harry, or that you would keep it from me once you knew I was innocent and Harry's father."

"Yes, I have made mistakes." Dumbledore stared at his hands for a moment, and then turned and fetched a Pensieve from a shelf behind him.

Harry and Sirius watched in silence as the misty figure of someone Harry recognized as Professor Trelawney rose from the surface and spun in place, beginning to speak what was apparently the prophecy in a tinny and distant voice.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"

Sirius's hand closed tighter and tighter on his shoulder as they listened, but Harry just reached back and squeezed it. As far as he was concerned, this was another step they were taking on the path.

A path that led to the destruction of the Horcruxes, and the defeat of Voldemort, but also to him surviving, with his friends and his family and his father beside him.

They would make it.

The End.