Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K Rowling.

A/N: A slightly longer chapter this week, I don't really know why?.Don't expect it to become too much of regular occurrence. Please leave a review - preferably a constructive one!

I wish all of you a good read, enjoy!

Chapter 11: Potential Bankruptcy

The harsh winter winds of February swept over us teeth clattering students relentlessly. Care for magical creatures was a subject which left little to do in the classroom; this class was no different. The howling of the wind coupled with the occasional flake of snow rendered Hagrid's lecture on blast ended Skrewts at the verge of incomprehensible.

The sky was as blue as the sea yesterday. How were we in the middle of a surging snowstorm today?

Countless shoulders stood hunched in the violent winds, I only had my eye on one. Malfoy.

My master had told me to investigate. No place better to start than him. The only problem was enlodging him from his den of Slytherins surrounding him. Similar to how a snake lies in the sun for warmth, the Slytherins had decided to stand bundled together for the same thing. Had it not been for his pale blonde hair standing out against all the black and green, you wouldn't have known he was there.

I shivered violently and muttered some words best left unsaid. Ron stood between me and Hermione, shielding her from the wind in a rather chivalrous way. Hermione had been odd since the conversation last night, she seemed undecided whether bewitching Davis was justifiable. I knew myself that I wasn't in a morally white area, but the confundus charm was like a drop of water next to an ocean in relation to Delacour's retribution. I couldn't really fault her, I wouldn't like getting manipulated either. That didn't make the roots or revenge any weaker. No, it made them sturdier and stronger. Longer and lasting. Come June, there would be a great tree. Sturdy and strong.

Somehow, this strange limbo where me and Hermione were neither at odds nor best of friends had put everything into a perspective. It felt like all we had been doing this year was fighting and ignoring each other. That had to stop, I resolved. Yes, they had done wrong; I could do better too.

Hagrid's declaration of a finished lesson was met with cheers of delight from our frozen mouths but were quickly demolished by the overpowering wind. Our weak teenage voices were drowned out by the booming beating of the late winter.

Our footprints from walking to the lesson had been completely eradicated in the long hour of excruciating cold. I sent a longing look towards Hagrid's cosy hut with the roaring fire inside. The crackling fire and a warm cup of tea was the stuff of dreams. I could imagine soaking in the humid heat and relaxing with a great sigh of content. The sweet taste of hot cocoa on my lips.

With a sigh, I turned around and followed the others who were practically sprinting with their frozen joints. My goal was as clear as the weather was windy, corner Malfoy, alone. That shouldn't be too hard, right?

-()-

It was an easy thing to accomplish, all things considered. Alas, it was not because of my own doing. I don't know if Malfoy had anticipated what I would do or if I had just been too obvious. Knowing myself, it was probably the latter.

Most of my classmates left the oozing potions classroom as soon as the bell rang with a shrill melody, the odour of rotten eggs wasn't a pleasant one after all. At least it wasn't my fault this time.

The shuffling of Malfoy's books eventually ceased and it felt like a laser bore into my head from behind because of his stare. I turned around slowly to find him looking at me with a frown.

"Is there something you want, Malfoy?" I spoke slowly.

He scoffed and folded his arms defiantly. "Is there something you want, Potter?" he returned scathingly.

We both glared at each other for a few long seconds. I imagined transfiguring him into a ferret again, seeing him squeal in embarrassment. I hadn't seen the incident when Moody did it the first time around, but I'd pay all the gold in my vault to see it.

"I just want to start this off by letting you know that you are still, on unconditional terms, an idiot," Malfoy said seriously. "However, your idiocy has limits."

"How cute, is that how you convey affection in Slytherin?" I responded drily.

I could have sworn that Malfoy's hand twitched for his wand. "Perhaps I underestimated your idiocy after all." He sighed loudly and plunged down in his chair. "Look…" he trailed off.

I must admit that I actually frowned at his behaviour. I wouldn't profess to be an expert at civil interaction with Slytherins, but I was pretty sure this could turn out to be one. If such a thing was possible.

"What happened?" he said with a confused look to him.

I raised my eyebrows. "What are you referring to now?"

He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. "Our meeting in the corridors together with the Durmstrangs and Beauxbatons last week."

I rolled my eyes. "You mean the meeting that you claimed I had assaulted you during?"

He nodded jerkily. "Yes. What happened?"

I frowned at him and sat down in a chair at the other side of the table. "Are you sure that I am the idiot here?" I asked curiously.

He glared at me. "I'm asking a serious question." He let out a long breath. "My memory betrays me."

I snorted. "Well, I suppose that being a ferret comes with the mental capacity of being a ferret."

Malfoy's grey eyes gave me the impression that he would want nothing else but to kill me. "You're actually a twat, do you know?"

I shrugged absently. "I'm a twat to twats, that's my philosophy."

Malfoy looked like he wanted to strangle someone. "Could you just please answer my question? I'm being serious here."

I don't know what it was, but something about the way he said it made me take it seriously. I can not say that there wasn't any trace of condescension, dislike or arrogance, that's going too far. There was definitely a desperation in his voice, fear even.

"You want to know what happened during an event you were present for? Just to get things straight," I said with a pair of raised brows.

"Is that too much to ask?"

I shrugged. "I've found that giving favours results in very little good recently," I said bitterly.

Malfoy snorted. "Yeah, yeah, we should all pity you, we get it."

I sent a death glare at Malfoy. I filled my imagination with violent depictions of torturing ferrets and tried to put all of that emotion into my gaze. There was no way for me to know if it worked but he seemed at least slightly apprehensive.

"For the love of Merlin, show for once that you are as caring as they say," Malfoy said with a raised chin.

I threw my hands up in the air in defeat. "Well, I wanted to talk to you about the incident either way, I suppose I can…help you remember?"

Malfoy forced a smile which looked more like an expression you might wear after eating a lemon. "Thanks a lot." His voice dripped with sarcasm like honey drips from a beehive in spring.

"So, I was walking around Hogwarts, minding my own business, revelling in the peace of not having annoying, blonde ferrets around, when I walked around a corner," I began dramatically.

Malfoy looked at me incredulously. "Are you five years old?"

I hushed him and continued. "Then I came upon a scene which I shall never forget. A poor, harmless, innocent, little boy was being assaulted by the big bad students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons."

Malfoy looked at me with neutrality.

"It stirred something in me, that little boy was so weak and defenceless, I couldn't not help him, it was my duty. So, the Gryffindor that I am, I did." I nodded dramatically. "Yes, I managed to make two of them realise what a poor little lad they were abusing so they left you alone and helped me. I scared them all away and then, the little boy and I were left alone in the corridor. The little boy then realised that…"

"Is that true?" Malfoy cut me off.

"The part about you being a small, defenceless, little boy? Yes."

Malfoy gave me a warning look.

"Everything else is also true." I arched an eyebrow at him. "As you should know."

"That's the thing, I don't."

I was about to start arguing when Malfoy interrupted me to continue. "I vaguely remember someone attacking me and that someone turning out to be you. The thing is, then I remember you saying that I was 'very Gryffindor for a Slytherin." Malfoy frowned. "I just don't understand how one thing can lead to the other."

I rolled my eyes. "Because your version is a lie."

Malfoy scoffed. "Yours is as well, I am sure."

I nodded slowly. "Yes, perhaps I underplayed the harmlessness of the little boy."

Malfoy scoffed. "Look, Potter. You may believe that you are Merlin's gift to wizardkind, but you are nowhere near good enough to beat the four students in a duel like I remember you doing."

I smiled sweetly. "I knew there was an insult in there somewhere, well done."

"I think I've been obliviated," Malfoy stated evenly.

The loud silence lasted for several long seconds. Malfoy's gaze was travelling over the jars of ingredients. Wolf's heart. Chimaera bone. Sphinx's thoughts. All of them.

"That's…concerning," I tried weakly.

Malfoy nodded and swallowed deeply. "It is," he said in nothing but a whisper.

Malfoy was always pale but the Slytherin sitting across the table was pale as a sheet. Not a trace of colour anywhere.

"How?" I asked eventually.

"I don't know…I just remember Delacour asking me to help her bring you to justice." He grimaced. "I recalled what you had done so I immediately obliged." He clutched his head in his hands. "Why wasn't I angry at you before Delacour approached me in the library?" Malfoy picked up the transfiguration textbook and waved it in front of me. "I distinctly remember that I wanted to burn this to ashes. I didn't feel any hate towards you."

I opened my mouth to speak but Malfoy cut me off.

"Any more hate than usual, I mean. Which, come to think of it, doesn't mean much considering how much I hate you." Malfoy clarified.

I closed my mouth and nodded.

"I hate you so much I would want nothing more than to choke you to death, I just want to make that clear."

I nodded thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind strangling you either."

Malfoy and I gave each other a respectful nod. "Good to know that we are on the same page."

"I agree."

"Anyway, I want retribution," Malfoy declared decisively.

I let out a long breath. "I, too, want revenge." I met his grey eyes and saw resolve in them. "You want my help to seek revenge?"

Malfoy nodded. "No one would see it coming." He reached out his hand to me. "To revenge and retribution?"

I took his hand in a firm grip and shook it. "To revenge and retribution."

We immediately let go of the handshake and both of us wiped our hands on our robes.

"Why is your hand so sweaty?" Malfoy asked with a disgusted look.

"It's not my hand. It's your hand," I retorted with a glare.

-()-

The howling could still be heard faintly through the thick walls which made up Hogwarts. Windows squeaked in pain as snow bounded off them and pressed their limits, they must have been charmed unbreakable, they should have succumbed to nature's will hours ago.

Torches had always flickered comfortingly if somewhat eerily along the Hogwarts walls. Something felt distinctly different tonight, the bright orange lights felt cold and colourless. Perhaps the castle itself knew I was walking to knowledge I really didn't want to have.

Rowena had spoken about my problems a lot recently, but she had jumped around what it actually was, to my great frustration.

I shivered slightly as I glided across the floor in my father's invisibility cloak. My only inheritance from him. I couldn't help but wonder if it would be the only gift he would ever give me.

In an attempt to keep the warmth, I dragged my thin cloak tighter and hunched my shoulders. When I swept through the silver doors, I expected a hug of warmth to envelop me lovingly. Alas, the purple torch only flickered solemnly and my teeth clattered as I entered the room.

Rowena didn't sit in her armchair. She was fidgeting, she was pacing, she was constantly swirling a strand of her hair. I stood frozen in the entrance, but not because of the February climate. She hadn't even noticed me yet, she always knew when I came in here.

I felt a sheen of cold sweat trickle down my back. If she was nervous, it was really bad. My expectations had been something quite bad. That expectation plummeted faster than a rock in water, I was literally prepared for the announcement of my funeral when she finally spotted me.

A heavy weight had settled in the pit of my stomach. My heart was beating in my chest with great thuds. Somehow, I wondered if the storm had managed to squeeze its way inside this very room.

"Sit down," my master declared with her mouth pressed in a firm line.

The crackling of the small fireplace had always been comforting to me, but now it only added to my knot in my stomach. I lowered myself down to rest on the armchair slowly, wincing slightly at my back. It had been fine for the most part throughout the day but some movements triggered a stab of pain in my lower back. Nothing I couldn't handle.

She observed me for a few long seconds and her purple eyes showed something I never imagined I would see there. Concern. Worry. Discomfort. I didn't like those things at all, my master wasn't supposed to feel those things.

She is a person with thoughts and feelings, just like you.

My master's words echoed in my head. I doubted that she wanted me to apply them to her but I got the impression that applying them to her would be the person they fit the best,

"What I am about to tell you will have to stay between us," she began and locked her eyes on mine. I wanted to break eye contact but something made me stare back into the purple orbs. If there was something she never lacked, it was determination.

"Of course, master." I replied with a small bow,

"A part of me thinks you're too young to know this, but you deserve to know," she continued, not taking her eyes off mine for a second. "I know that I would have wanted to know about this if I was in your situation, so I can't not tell you…" Rowena trailed off and broke eye contact to stare into the fireplace.

The knot in my stomach wasn't a knot anymore. It was a knot on a knot on a knot. My stomach might burst at any given moment, I felt sick. Did she have to make such a big thing about it? If she hadn't acted like the world was on the brink of oblivion, I never would have worried.

Then again, was it better to know about it and feel worse for it? Or to continue life with no knowledge of what was wrong?

I would be content if I never knew about this. I would be able to laugh with my friends without a constant weight in my stomach making itself heavier every time I was left with but a moment alone with my thoughts.

Something would always be wrong, I couldn't live life with a constant threat dangling over me on a rope I could never see. Better to look up and try to cut the rope down.

"There is no easy way to say this," Rowena admitted and swallowed. "But you've got a piece of Voldemort's soul inside yourself."

I waited for something to happen. A violent pain in my forehead. A flood of blood pouring out my back. Nothing happened. Nothing. My brain didn't think for a couple of seconds.

I blinked at her in confusion, "What?" I breathed out.

"To simplify things, a piece of Voldemort was split away when he hit you with the killing curse. Then, that soul piece latched onto the only other living being in the room." Rowena explained with a grimace. "That living being is…"

"Me…" I said with a gulp.

Rowena nodded slowly and lifted her hand but lowered it again. I barely registered what and why she did it. My heart beat was back to its normal self.

"What does this mean?" I whispered.

"That piece will have to be destroyed, otherwise he won't die, for good," Rowena declared simply. She opened her mouth to say something but closed again.

"Can it be destroyed?" I asked cautiously. "Without destroying me with it."

"I happen to be an expert at the subject," she began and put a strand of hair behind her ear. "There is a ritual in which you can move a Horcrux from one item to another. It should work on humans as well."

Her hands were folded neatly in her lap again. She was back in her element.

"What is a horcrux?"

"It is what a soul piece split away from the body is called."

"Wait," I uttered suspiciously. "You can make these yourself?"

"Yes. It is quite easy to do actually, if you know how. Abhorrent, but easy," Rowena muttered bitterly with a dark look over her face.

"Why is it 'abhorrent'?"

"I won't go into details. But the final step of murdering someone is the most…merciful step."

I swallowed at that, I could only imagine what it could be. Cruciatus? Something worse? Pictures of mutilated corpses with blood flowing out filled my mind. Faceless people writhing in agony. People crushed under great rocks like ants are crushed under the boot of man.

"How did it even happen? How did his soul split?" I said in an attempt to change the topic.

"It could definitely be a phenomenon associated with a rebounding killing curse," Rowena admitted matter of factly. "However, he has definitely made at least one other Horcrux, so it is likely that it ending up inside you is a failed attempt at creating one."

"Right. How do you know if he's made others?" I wondered aloud.

"I've seen your memories. That diary in second year was one," Rowena declared with frown. "It is not unreasonable to assume he's made more. 'How many' is the question we should be asking ourselves."

I nodded at that and stared into thin air absently. If these things prevented death, Voldemort would want many. Perhaps even hundreds or thousands.

As if she had read my thoughts, she quickly dismissed that thought. "I think we can assume it is less than ten Horcruxes, more would destroy his soul entirely."

"Alright," I started with a grim look. "How do we do this ritual?"

"That's the tricky part," Rowena began and my stomach twisted violently at that. "We need a potion, which is quite easy to brew." She frowned and sighed. "We need three more things much harder to come by though," Rowena continued and paused with a grimace in my direction.

"What things?" I asked. The room was entirely silent, as if the campfire realised that it wasn't time to crackle and cackle.

"Flesh of the lord. Your flesh," Rowena began and I felt myself going green at the thought. If that was the first thing, what on earth could the other.

"Bones of the teacher," she continued and gave me a comforting smile. "That's the easiest one." She muttered something else under her breath I didn't quite catch.

"The last thing is the most difficult," she said with a pained smile. "But if we are lucky, the cheapest one."

The chandelier hanging off the roof was glistening intently and illuminating her face. Still, her face had adopted an expression void of any positivity.

"We need your father's blood," she said evenly.

It could have been worse. It could have required murder or something worse. At least there wasn't any way to decimate myself morally in acquiring something impossible.

"That's impossible," I whispered. "He can't make blood while dead, so unless you know some kind of necromancy…" I trailed off and took a deep breath to calm myself.

"I actually know some necromancy, but not that is useful here," Rowena replied with a frown. "Our hope lies in one of your family's storage vaults."

"What?"

"If everything went as it should have when your parents were murdered, all of their belongings should have been sent to a vault for safekeeping," Rowena explained patiently.

"You think my father kept a few bottles of his own blood at home?" I asked with a stricken expression.

"We can hope he did, but I doubt it," Rowena said with a sad smile. "Hospitals collect blood from patients all the time to determine if the patient suffers from any maladies. If they had done this on him, which is likely, that bottle of blood should be sent to the storage along with everything else. Medical records and such."

It was a lot to take in, I nodded slowly and breathed out a long sigh. I literally had to sacrifice a piece of my own flesh, my teacher's thousand year old bones and blood from my father, who had been dead for over thirteen years.

I chuckled mirthlessly, who could have guessed that thirteen years old blood would be the key to ending Voldemort?

"I only have one question," I spoke after several eternities of tense silence.

Rowena looked at me with a frown and folded her hands in her lap, "What?"

"Don't you think the blood would have gone bad by now? Shouldn't it have rotted or something after thirteen years?"

She raised her eyebrows at me, "Ever heard of a stasis charm?"

I flushed in embarrassment and nodded mutely.

"Alright, so I just have to go to the bank and ask if they have my father's blood?" I tried to confirm as I fidgeted with my fingers.

"I would recommend sending a letter to the goblins for a full list of everything in every vault you own," Rowena explained with a stern look. "That way we can try to find out if it actually exists before we make a decision."

"A decision about what?"

"You're in a bit of a precarious position regarding the status of your family. You're the only heir, so you're able to access the family vault." She paused for a second and bit her lip. "Thing is, items of deceased people aren't stored in that vault, like you noticed when you visited."

"There wasn't anything else than money inside," I confirmed.

"Exactly, that means that there would be another vault where the thing we need is stored." She sighed. "Unfortunately, the goblins have a bunch of policies regarding ownership of several vaults." Rowena chuckled bitterly. "It is expensive to upkeep several vaults, you know."

"Does that mean I won't be able to access the things?"

Rowena shook her head. "No, you will be able to, but it will cost you." She paused and sent me a sympathetic smile. "If we are unlucky, a lot."

"I will have to pay to access my own vault?" I said incredulously.

"Nah, it's more that the goblins will want to make sure that they gain something from letting you access what they have kept safe. They want you to become one of their 'business partners', although the better term would be a rich, paying customer."

I stared up at the ceiling and tried to picture a large vault with my family's belongings in them, somewhere deep underground. Guarded by dangers and dragons unknown to any wizard.

"I guess breaking in isn't really an option?" I asked; even as I said it, I realised how ridiculous it was.

My master arched his brow. "I hope I won't have to answer that question."

I grimaced. "So what will I have to do?"

"You need to take responsibility, to put it simply," Rowena said seriously. "If you become one of their customers, they will let you in."

"Sounds simple enough."

"Except it isn't," Rowena said with a pointed look.

I shook my head with a smile. "Of course it isn't. Let me guess, I'll have to wrestle a troll or something to prove my strength?"

Rowena looked at me with an unamused look. "No, you will only have to answer for everything your family has neglected since the last time someone in your family became a 'partner' of Gringotts."

"Do you know who the last person in my family was?"

Rowena shrugged. "I know as much as you do."

"So let's say that I sign this agreement and become one of their partners in exchange for access to my vaults, what will that mean for me?"

Rowena stroked her chin. "That's the thing, we can't know." She met my eyes. "Request a list of everything you own, once we get that list, we can figure out what you might be required to do."

I suppressed a grimace. "What things could I be forced to do?"

Rowena sighed. "Anything really, there could be a bunch of contracts left unfulfilled for generations."

"Contracts?"

Rowena smiled bitterly. "Indeed, the contract you signed which made you my apprentice should protect you from contracts which would have enslaved you completely to someone's will."

I looked at her with eyes wide open. "I thought that contracts meant that I would have to pay money or give someone…something."

Rowena shook her head. "What you just said are the most likely outcomes, you will most likely have to pay some amount of money." My master gazed into the fire with a frown. "How much? I don't know."

I wasn't sure if I should laugh or cry, so I settled for a scoff. "So what? I'm facing potential bankruptcy if I want to get Voldemort out of me?"

"In essence, yes."

I shook my head with a smile. It wasn't a smile of joy nor of amusement. "Isn't there any other way to get Voldemort out?"

Rowena swallowed. "There could be, sure, but let us see what you actually have in your vaults first. Then, we can figure out what to do."

"Write to the goblins, get a list of what I own, then make a decision," I repeated. "Got it."

Rowena nodded. "That's as good of a plan as any I could think of. You must know, everything we are doing are completely unexplored areas of magic."

"So not even you know what will work and what won't?"

My master glared at me. "I'm certain that the ritual I have in mind will work. Any other method won't guarantee your safety."

I nodded slowly. "Let's go with your plan then." I let out a long breath and leaned back in my purple armchair. "Let's be honest here, nothing can be worth more than getting Voldemort out of my head. I would be willing to empty my vaults in a heartbeat if that meant he would be gone."

Rowena frowned. "Let's see what you have in your vault first." She shrugged. "Who knows, there might not even be a vial of your father's blood in there."

"Then all of this planning was for nothing," I concluded.

Rowena's lips quirked upwards into something resembling a smile. "Indeed."

-()-

The large, black dog left huge dents in the muddy road as it trudged off on a weathered track. Panting slightly, I fought hard to keep up with the magnificent animal or as it actually was, my godfather.

The fur which had once been black as the night had lost all its glean, small specks of dirt was stuck in his fur like knots. As my godfather transformed back to his human form in the shrouded cave I saw that he didn't look much better.

He still wore the same dirty, old clothes of Azkaban inmates, his set looked like a single thread breaking would leave him without clothes. I remembered that he didn't look too great at the end of spring last year, but he seemed even paler than before.

I would have guessed he was in his late forties if I saw him with all his wrinkles and grey hairs. It seemed that the Marauders had a tendency to get grey hairs early. Seeing the man in front of me, it was hard to imagine a great prankster, a menace worse than the Weasley twins.

"You like it?" Sirius let out with a small chuckle. "My humble abode," he finished and gestured around the place.

It was a cave, if not for the Hippogriff bound by the opening and a couple of discarded newspapers, there was little sign of life. I felt embarrassed for bringing a small bag of food, hygiene and clothes was something he needed just as much.

I gave him a forced smile. "It has its charms," I tried tentatively.

He snorted in amusement. "It's a shithole. No need to sugarcoat it."

I didn't answer but walked around the constraint and felt my neck hurt due to bending my head down so low. Sirius sat down on a small piece of newspaper, which seemed to act as a chair, and gestured for me to do the same.

I sat down hesitantly, feeling the cold of the stone seeping into my backside. He slept on this surface? I would make sure my four poster bed knew it was appreciated, however that could be done.

"You said you wanted to talk about something?" Sirius began with an encouraging look.

I looked him in the eyes and felt the will to break contact immediately, the eyes looked like a dementor felt. Full of pain and misery, with little light. Not for the first time, I wondered how my godfather was still sane. Was he still sane?

I bit my lip and thought it over one last time. I had done little else since I had received Sirius' letter about meeting here during the Hogsmead weekend. Still, what would he think of me? Did it matter what he thought of me?

I had decided that the answer to the question was 'yes'. He was the closest thing to a parent I had, probably the closest thing I would ever have.

"Do you want me to get you out of here?"

My eyes snapped up to Sirius' haunted orbs. "What?"

"Do you want me to get out of here?"

I stared at him for several long seconds. "What?"

Sirius snorted but it turned into a grimace. "Look…I'm sorry, okay?" His hands curled into fists. I wondered for a brief moment if he would punch himself. "I should have come here to help you. I should have."

"You couldn't have done anything…"

Sirius shook his head. "No, I could have. But that is beside the point, I have hid away here while you've been assaulted time after time."

"I don't blame you for what has happened. I would much rather have you in…safety than trying to break me out of the castle."

Sirius opened his mouth to say something but I cut him off.

"Don't worry Sirius, I've got things under control now. The other schools are gone, no one is there who can hurt me."

He shook his head. "Someone put you in this tournament Harry..."

"I know, but whoever was damn good at covering his tracks if neither Dumbledore and Moody could find who it was."

"True," Sirius conceded. "But please, promise me, if there is even the slightest hint of trouble, send an owl, send a patronus." When I met his eyes, there was no trace of any hauntedness or trauma. They shone in the dimly lit cave with resolve. "I will be there."

I smiled. "Thank you Sirius."

"You don't need to thank me. I should already have been here for you."

I didn't answer. The previous uncertainty rose in my throat, should I tell him about it. The horcrux.

Iit was as if a dam broke, one small crack and soon, the water was pouring out in heaves.

I told him about how I went to the chamber of secrets for safety, how I practised magic in there, how I found one of Riddle's old books about horcruxes and put the pieces together.

Sirius looked as if he wanted to give me a hug and murder someone at the same time. "You don't deserve this," he croaked out.

I snorted. "Maybe not, but it is the hand I have been given."

In a way, it felt like I was sitting somewhere other than in that small, shivering cave. Could I really say that I didn't deserve all of this after all the lies I had told?

Hermione, Ron and now Sirius. Who would be next? Was there even anyone close to me left that I could lie to and deceive?

"And you're still waiting for the list of the items you inherited?" Sirius inferred in an attempt to change the topic.

I was grateful, if for nothing else than the escape from my own head.

"I wrote to them the day I found out, a week ago, still no answer," I replied without meeting his eye. I couldn't bear looking into those trusting, haunted orbs of his.

"So you could lose all of your money, all your possessions," he stated with a sigh. "That's not a bright outlook."

"It's not," I confirmed with a grimace. "But do you know if we have any contracts? Did my father ever tell you something?" I asked and sent a begging look in his direction.

"My father and his brother fought all the time about who would get to work with Gringotts on behalf of the Blacks," Sirius began with a bitter look. "I asked James once why no one in his family cared or even acknowledged the role. He claimed that 'all that pompous crap is for boot lickers and snobs," Sirius replied with an absent, fond look.

I snorted at the comment but my expression fell quickly again. "So I will have to lower myself to being a 'bootlicker and a snob' in order to defeat Voldemort." I sent Sirius a weak smile. "That's a moral line I can not cross."

He forced a smile. "I know that neither your father nor grandfather took the role. They went by with the 'small' vault you've got access to now. Never bothered with anything else, I don't know why though."

I sighed but tried to plaster a grateful smile on my face. "Thank you either way Sirius."

"No problems Harry," Sirius replied with a warm smile.

"Just one more thing," I announced and hesitated before continuing. I sent him an uncertain look and he only gave me an encouraging smile. "Do you think I should take revenge on Delacour?"

I didn't dare to look at him, so I couldn't gauge his reaction. He didn't say anything for a few moments so I feared I would find him looking at me in disappointment.

"What do you feel, Harry?" Sirius asked gently and grabbed my hand, giving it a small squeeze.

"Revenge is wrong," I stated simply. "But I want it so much."

"I get it," Sirius said solemnly. "I won't sit here and say that revenge is wrong. That would be hypocritical," Sirius continued with a bitter chuckle.

"What I want you to know," Sirius started again with a finger held up warningly. "Revenge is what ruined my life, if I had been sensible after his betrayal, I would have stayed for you. I didn't, and I paid an all too expensive price."

"I think I'll do it," I said evenly. I laughed bitterly. "Thing is, taking revenge makes me no better than she is."

"I understand," Sirius responded with a pat on the arm. "I would only give you one piece of advice," he continued and paused briefly. "Follow your heart, don't use your brain, use this," he declared and pointed to my heart demonstratively. "I haven't known you for a long time, Harry, but you are one of the best people I've met. Merlin knows I wouldn't have spared Pettigrew in your situation," he continued with a warmlook.

"That's another thing," I countered with a desperate look. "How can I spare Pettigrew and want revenge for something this petty?"

"You spared him because you are a good person," Sirius argued. "It doesn't mean that you disgrace your parents."

"Revenge is wrong," I said simply again.

Sirius leant forward and embraced me tightly.

"Listen to your feelings, Harry. They won't lead you astray."