Year Six: Harry Potter and the Secret Letters

Chapter Thirteen: Horcruxes

Warnings: Due to the sudden in-depth plotting this story is undergoing to prepare for Book Seven, I have discovered many problems. Not least of which is how the hell to introduce Harry to Horcruxes, seeing as Dumbledore has been practically non-existent (something I will explain when I rewrite chapter one). This is my solution. Forgive my attempt at poetry, but I'm sure it will suffice. Any opinions/advice on the verse would be appreciated. Enjoy-!

'Page one-hundred and twenty-seven…'

Draco locked himself in his room, ordering a house elf that he was not to be disturbed until he said otherwise. Sitting on his bed, he hastily flipped the book open to the correct page. The paper was worn thin with time and ready to tear at the smallest, unfriendly treatment. The ink was faded, rubbed off in some spots, and written in elaborate calligraphy. At the top was written 'Horcrux,' the "H" large and swirling around the other letters. Draco furrowed his brow at the word. He had never heard it before, and wondered if it was the name of a spell, or perhaps a different language altogether. Beneath it, however, was a verse in Old-English script, merely one page in length. He flipped it over, but that was the entirety of the entry before it moved on to Horned Beasts. He kicked off his shoes as he settled in to read, his curiosity piqued.

'In the darkest of magic does reside

The key to Man's most elusive desire.

A word of caution to all who seek

To alter the course of their destiny:

A mistake may lead to thine demise,

Thus to be rid such yearning would be wise.

But if thee persists in this dire pursuit,

These words should you thoroughly peruse.

The only requirement of this spell

Is the innocent blood that must be spilt.

But if in murder thou would'st take pleasure,

Thy hate shall lead thy soul to wither

To dust, as one so rightly deserves.

However, if it be evil thee serves

And willing to live but half a life,

There is a cure in thine own sacrifice.

While in its weakened state, the soul may split

In equal parts, one of which thee may slip

Into an object of great meaning.

An act so bold, so beyond conceiving!

But if accomplished in all its success,

The mortal body in battle dispensed

Would not conclude in thy wizard's death

For a soul dwells like a quivering breath.

Not so much living as lying in wait,

Far worse than death is now thy fate.

Thus eternity is granted to him,

The wizard who dares doth challenge the Grim.'

Draco reread the verse numerous times, but could hardly grasp what it was saying. Was this a formula for immortality? To 'challenge the Grim' would be to oppose death, but that didn't make any sense. Immortality was impossible. Even with an Elixir of Life or the Philosopher's Stone, eventual decay would occur until you wasted away into nothing. The poem did mention 'withering,' 'half a life' and 'dwell on a quivering breath,' but that was not what Draco thought it meant. This was something far more sinister than old age. 'The soul may split in equal parts?' If that were indeed possible, which Draco highly doubted was true, you wouldn't be able to function properly. A vital piece of you would be missing. What would that mean to one's being? Would you become a vegetable, unable to feel or think like a healthy, whole human?

Draco's face was scrunched up in concentration, disbelief and disgust. No such magic could possibly exist. He had never even heard of it, and he had made a point to be well versed in these matters, as was expected of Death Eaters. "Splitting your soul… How ridiculous," Draco sneered, snapping the book shut. Climbing off of his bed, he pulled off his shirt and approached his dresser to grab his pajamas. As he went to throw his dirty clothes into a basket beside his bathroom door, he withdrew the transfer sphere from his pants pocket. He stared at the hollow center, disappointed. The longing to talk to Harry from days before was as strong as ever, and it was annoying the blonde to no end that he couldn't simply turn off the feeling. He tossed the sphere onto his bed and continued his dressing.

'Then again…'

Draco glanced over at the book, which the sphere at landed beside. His father had personally directed him to this magic, had seemed to have difficulty whether or not to reveal it, and made an effort to be inconspicuous and hide the fact from the Dark Lord. Lucius would only behave in such a way if the topic in question was of the utmost importance and secrecy. The man was much too proud and intelligent to waste his time studying false magic.

It may seem impossible, but this concerned the Dark Lord. If there did exist magic as horrific as ripping apart your own soul to become immortal, Voldemort would be the first to try it. Draco tied the drawstring on his pajama bottoms distractedly, reclaiming his spot on his bed and opening the book back up to Horcruxes. He studied the words ruthlessly, examining each line for a conceivable translation.

'But if in murder thou would'st take pleasure…' So, it isn't simply the act of killing. It can't be an act of self-defense, or something you regret. It's slaughter for the pure enjoyment of slaughter. The perfect description of his father's dark king. Draco picked up the transfer sphere and rolled it in his hands as he thought, the cool glass calming him, keeping him in the present and away from the echoes of the past summer.

'…In equal parts, one of which thee may slip into an object of great meaning.' His eyes slid down to the orb in his hands. How could a soul reside in an object? A soul is an essence, something that only living creatures possessed. Even that was arguable, since Draco wasn't sure he believed in the existence of a soul to begin with. But ignoring the philosophical debate and assuming every word of this passage was true, a man's very essence could be stored away in an inanimate anything. A chair, a book, a piece of lint. Draco couldn't quite understand the appeal, let alone the mechanics of the spell. Although, it did say it had to be of great meaning. Like… his transfer sphere, he noted dully. Damn the cursed thing for making him get so attached. But if that is indeed the case, if the object was close enough to the wizard's heart to begin with, maybe it would already feel like a part of you and the soul would feel at home there—

Listen to him! Talking about a soul as if it had a mind of its own! Draco rolled his eyes at himself. What was a soul anyway?

He stared vacantly into the sphere's hollow core, deflated. Horcrux… it all sounded like a bunch of bollocks to him. He couldn't wrap his head around it; his insistence on logic was blocking his view of what the words in front of him presented. Unlike Harry. Harry and the others could have figured this out. They aren't ruled by pride and a decade of fine-tuning by their families. Weasley would probably throw out something outlandish and incomprehensible. Harry, as muggle-brained as ever, would most likely find a thread of probability in the ludicrous idea and present it bluntly, no closer to the truth, but enough for Granger to fill in all the gaps with her internal encyclopedia. But now that it was Draco's turn to solve the great riddle of the Dark Lord, he was at a loss. Did it even matter?

In his current predicament, would it make any difference whether he understood or not? What were his father's exact words? 'He does not wish for Potter to die.' He can't kill him because of a Horcrux curse. Does that mean Harry had performed a Horcrux? That wasn't important. Voldemort didn't want him dead; he wanted Harry prisoner. That meant Draco would not be forced to become a murderer, or at least not yet. If he could simply entice Harry to come out, Voldemort would have his satisfaction and Draco's family would be released from their threats.

'He'll keep him. Torture him and play with him, but keep him alive.'

Those specific words still rang perfectly clear, and Draco suppressed a shudder. The thought of Harry under the Cruciatus Curse made him wince. Then a momentary image of Voldemort's hand ghosting over Harry's bare stomach, the sultry fluidity of a victorious predator… A wave of horror and fury coursed through him. It was only a split-second of adrenaline, but the blond forcefully had to ease his clenched fists and jaw loose. No… The Gryffindor had an amazing talent of getting out of those sorts of situations, he repeated to himself. There was little doubt in Draco's mind that the other teen would concoct some unfathomable plan of escape.

However, there was also the matter of Harry's trust. If Draco used Judas to lead to the lion's capture, all trust Harry could have kept in him would be gone. It was a cruel act of betrayal. But… that was the original purpose of Judas, after all. Would he be able to go through with it? Was he willing to pay that price?

"Harry?"

The sphere remained empty for agonizing seconds, but only seconds nonetheless.

Judas?

Draco's heart was hammering in his chest.

Listen, if it's about what I said the other night—

"It is. But don't apologize. You had every right to make that request of me, and I'm sorry that I couldn't give you what you wanted."

It's all right. I understand.

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said, and I want to meet with you."

Really? Er, that's great. When?

"After the holidays," he replied after a moment. That would hopefully give him plenty of time to finish the cabinet.

But… That's months from now.

"You were right when you said it wasn't fair how little you knew about me, and I've actively tried to hide it from you. So, maybe we should spend that time letting you get to know me."

I already know loads about you. I mean, I might not know what House you're in or who your parents are, but that's hardly important. I know you as a person, as my friend. All those other things are just results of that.

Harry had a way of making these things difficult. And he was now officially referring to Judas as his friend? Interesting. "Please, Harry, just do this for me?"

The other seemed to take the time to consider the proposition seriously. Fine. After the holidays.

"Thank you." Draco released a soothing breath; the plan was in motion and it no longer needed his concern tonight. "So how have things been since I talked to you last?"

Merlin!

Draco let out a humored scoff, shoving aside his schoolbooks and getting comfortable under his blankets. "That bad?"

We have a quidditch match tomorrow, but I have been so wrapped up with if you were mad at me or not, I haven't been able to focus on practice.

"Oh? You've been thinking of me that much, huh?" Draco pressed with a triumphant smirk.

What? And you haven't spent the last four days thinking about me?

The blond raised a single eyebrow in appraisal. Harry was a thousand miles away and still able to read his mind. "Granted."

It's the first match of the season. You'll be there, right? No detentions or anything?

"No, no detentions. But I won't be able to make it. I'm not feeling well and Pomphrey thinks I should stay out of the cool air for now."

Odd. Everyone seems to be falling ill.

"Everyone?"

Well, you know Katie's at St. Mungo's right now, Malfoy's out sick, and Vaisey's been hit in the head with a bludger. Not to mention Ron and Hermione have gone from bickering to full-out avoiding each other.

Draco shook his head disapprovingly against his pillow. Those two always seemed to be causing drama. "Why? What happened now?"

I don't know, actually. It started as a fight about you and me, and then it just escaladed. I don't even get it anymore.

"Don't they have something better to talk about other than us? I mean, as flattering as it is, isn't it a bit annoying to have them sticking their noses in your business all the time?"

Yes, it is. I talked to Hermione about it privately. She promised to let it go and trust my opinion of you.

Draco gazed at the sphere seriously, ignoring the return of butterflies in his stomach. "And, what is your opinion of me?"

…That you are an honest and trust-worthy person… and that I like you.

His stomach did a flip and he sank down lower into his blankets, unsure how one was supposed to respond to such forwardness. "I… I like you, too, Harry."

I know…

Nothing was said for a short while, but the silence wasn't awkward. Draco was at ease, comfortable with what he had just admitted. To Harry, Judas had fancied him from the beginning. But, in truth, it was painfully apparent to the blond that the once fabricated feelings were slowing becoming real. And he just had to accept that.

XXXXXXXXXX

Draco waited up Saturday night, late into the next morning, for his father's return. He had been summoned that evening to the Dark Lord's side to presumably report what he found out about the Hogsmeade incident. Draco didn't know how much of the truth would be related to the snake, but he trusted his father to know what would be approved of and what wouldn't. As much as he despised that his father bowed to that creature, such intell was highly appreciated at the moment.

He spent that morning talking to Harry over the spheres, answering all sorts of questions about unimportant matters: places he wanted to go, deceased wizards he wished he could speak to, whether he preferred pumpkin juice or apple cider and why. A lot of 'why' questions. It was evident that Harry wanted to get this 'learning about Judas' thing out of the way. "No, I'm an only child. Yes, I've been to a few World Cup matches. I don't know; I've never been to America."

The most interesting part of the whole interrogation process was how much he was still learning about Harry. Although the Gryffindor had often rambled on about the events he went through at school, he realized that he knew the answers to very few of the exact questions being asked of him. He had Harry agree early on to give his own answer to every question he asked.

I'm an only child, too. So was my dad, as far as I know. My mum had a sister, my Aunt Petunia. And I do have a cousin.

I went to a World Cup game once, the summer I turned fourteen. That was the first time I saw Viktor Krum, before the Triwizard Tournament.

I haven't been to America, either. Actually, I've never been outside England.

"We'll have to travel out of the country, then, once this is all over."

To where?

"I don't know. Pick somewhere."

How about Romania? Ron's brother studies dragons there, and it might be fun to see them when they aren't trying to kill me.

"Alright. Romania."

Many such agreements had been made. Though, their first order of business was a lot less grandeur.

Butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, Harry had proclaimed at one point. That's what we should go do, after the holidays.

Draco tried not to think about how he was making plans for his first date with Harry Potter. "What if they still aren't allowing students to go back to Hogsmeade?"

Then we'll go to the Hogwarts kitchen and ask. There's a house elf there, Dobby, who's a friend of mine. I'm sure he'd find a way to make some.

"Harry Potter, friend of house elves. Why am I not surprised? I've never heard a wizard call a house elf his friend."

They aren't given enough credit. Though, Hermione tried to form a club to free them once, but all the elves at Hogwarts were treated so well by Dumbledore that they didn't want freedom. Dobby ended up collecting every sock, hat, and glove she left out.

Draco remembered Dobby as being one of his family's house elves up until the end of his second year. His father had been furious that Harry Potter had so easily lost him a servant. Draco, on the other hand, didn't particularly care; one house elf was as good as the next and wasn't worth getting upset over. "I vaguely recall S.K.E.W. It was mild school gossip about how one of Know-It-All-Granger's experiments had failed for once. A rarity indeed."

Don't tell Hermione that. She still insists that she had good reason for what she did.

"She's as stubborn as we are. I know that if it had been me, I would claim I was right until the day I died, no matter how many elves and wizards told me otherwise."

Yeah, I guess you're right. That's how I was about the return of Voldemort.

"I know."

So on they spoke, for hours, and then lunch came around. Harry excused himself, promising that they would talk later that night after quidditch. With a quick 'get some rest,' the silver scrawl disappeared from the sphere. Draco relished in the uncommonly lazy morning, feeling refreshed that he didn't have to get ready before the sun was high in the sky. He finally allowed the house elves to enter his room again, requesting lunch while he prepared to take a hot shower. He asked the whereabouts of his mother, but it appeared that the woman was visiting a family friend that weekend, obviously fleeing the estate lest the Dark Lord decide to make an unexpected visit.

He spent the afternoon doing homework and making an honest attempt to not check his transfer sphere every five minutes. He knew that the Quidditch match wouldn't be over until dusk, but it didn't stop his mind from traveling back to the Gryffindor constantly. It was as if he was becoming addicted to Harry, and he was fervently trying to prove that false.

When Harry did at last return, he didn't stay long. The Gryffindors had won, predictably, and were having their usual victory party. Draco didn't detain him; he told him to go enjoy himself and that they could talk tomorrow. Harry reaffirmed that he would talk to him throughout Sunday since he had nothing to do except homework, and then he disappeared for the rest of the evening.

This left Draco to wait up for his father in silence.

He had finished his school assignments some time ago and was distractedly stroking Aristotle's feathers when he heard the distant pop of his father apparating on the boundary of the estate. Quickly jumping up from his bed, he made his way to the front of the manor and was standing in wait in the foyer when his father entered the front door. He knew that his father would have little patience for his son's inefficiencies, especially after having worked so diligently at saving the boy's reputation in the eyes of Voldemort. The man barely spared him a glance before heading straight to his study. Draco followed, obediently mute.

"Our Lord doubts your loyalty," his father stately flatly as he claimed the chair behind the desk, leaving his son to close the door behind them quietly. Draco did not sit down, his body much to rigid with apprehension to consider such action. "Therefore, I attempted to assure him by making a severe, albeit rash, offer. Since no words can be trusted, only action will appease him. I suggested he brand you with the Dark Mark immediately, to prove your intentions."

Draco's entire being tensed in horror.

No, he couldn't. His father wouldn't really make such an offer. He could expect him to pledge himself at his age, at this time, with nothing to save him. If Draco were branded with the Dark Mark now, all hope for his escape would be lost. He would be eternally bound to the Lord, and forever in his service. The thought made the blood rush out of his face.

"However," his father continued, "the Dark Lord has refused. He deems that you have not yet earned it. I was successful in removing nearly all suspicion from you, but he will need to see progress immediately if we are to continue to hold his favor. Already, he loses confidence in my own loyalty."

The brief terror of moments before slowly melted off of the boy, leaving him dizzy and unfocused. Whatever his father was speaking of at the moment, Draco did not hear a word of it.

"When you return to school, you must directly begin work on the cabinet and inform me of the steps you have taken and any other assistance you may require. I am sure that I have already provided you with all the tools and enchantments that you will need, but there is no telling the current state of the thing. I want to know as soon as you find it in the Room of Requirement. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father," Draco responded habitually, vaguely noting the subject matter although not paying attention to what he just agreed to.

"You may leave."

The young Slytherin was only slightly surprised at the sudden dismissal, but did not ask questions. His father was probably exhausted from the day in Voldemort's service, and Draco wasn't feeling up to much conversation anyway. He rushed back to his room, as if his father could change his mind about the Dark Mark at any moment, and closed his bedroom door with finality. Burying himself in his bed under various blankets, he tried to take a few deep breaths to calm his rushing pulse. Without worrying about the risks of being seen, he withdrew the transfer sphere from under his pillow and rolled it in his hands. The smooth glass was familiar and gave him a way to ground himself.

As he examined the clear orb, thoughts of Harry trickled back into his mind. Soon, worried of Voldemort were dampened by pleasant memories of the Gryffindor, and Draco felt his body begin to relax into the blankets.

"Harry...?" he murmured into the sphere, not really expecting a response at this hour. "Thank you."

He allowed his eyes to close, and tried to get some sleep, becoming more and more content as his mind wondered over the other boy. He inhaled Harry's scent as exhaustion claimed him.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next morning, Draco was being apparated to the school gates. Severus was already there waiting for him when he arrived and remained blessedly silent on their march towards the castle. Snape was obviously at the Death Eater meeting that weekend and knew everything there was about the young Slytherin's lack of progress. There was nothing left to say. Draco abandoned the professor in the Great Hall, rushing towards the Slytherin common room in earnest, intent on shutting himself in his dormitory and not speaking with anyone for the day.

He was halfway through the common room when Blaise stepped into his path, a dangerous frown on his face. Draco sneered at the bold interruption but caught sight of Pansy behind him and bit back a retort. He followed them silently up to the boy's dormitory where Pansy closed the door with a sharp snap.

"The Dark Mark?" Blaise began instantly, sounding completely scandalized. "Are you barking mad? A sixteen-year-old in the service. What makes you think you're any better than the rest of us? There is no way that the Dark Lord would recruit someone as young as we are. We should be grateful if he takes us in after graduation."

Draco was caught a bit off-guard. Oh, how quickly word spreads. He twisted his face into a victorious sneer. "Jealous, Blaise?"

"Of what? You didn't get it…" The boy faltered, second-guessing his sources. "Did you?"

"Unfortunately, the Dark Lord requests that finish my assignment before I am branded."

"Requests?" Zabini scoffed, but Draco continued on as if he hadn't spoken.

"I'm going to find the Room of Requirement today, as a matter of fact."

"Let us come with you," Pansy pressed, finally stepping away from the wall to speak. "The Room of Requirement could be a pretty big place sometimes. Maybe we can help you find what you're looking for?"

Draco's brow scrunched suspiciously. "Who said I was looking for anything?"

"Well, why would you be using the room if you weren't in need of something?"

The Malfoy heir concluded that he no longer trusted her for the time being. Perhaps his recent close calls made him a bit paranoid, but he was no longer in a position to take any chances. "No, you can't come with me. Do you think this is some sort of play date? If you do the job with me, it's not going to help you get into the service sooner. But it will keep me from getting in, and my family will remain in danger." He turned his gaze back to the other boy. "So bugger off, Blaise. The last thing I need is your thirst for glory killing my mother."

The two glared at each other for a long moment before another voice interrupted them. "When you're playing games with the Dark Lord, every move can kill. Even a pawn can take a queen if you aren't careful." The three glanced to the other side of the room where Theo sat motionless on his bed. He hadn't made himself known when they barged in and was now in a rather dangerous position. An outsider just heard mention of Voldemort's plans. The choices: join them, or be reported and hunted. Surely this brief, inexplicit mention wouldn't warrant something so drastic, however, and thus he chose to bring attention to himself, before the conversation escaladed.

"We're all pawns, Theo," Draco snapped quietly as he sat on his bed. "There are no other pieces except us and our Dark King."

Nott closed his textbook that he had been taking notes from in favor of the dire conversation. "That's not true. Severus is a knight, hopping between pieces and taking what he needs to protect the Dark Lord. Your father is a rook, plowing down adversaries that dare oppose, just like your Aunt Bellatrix. And your mother is the queen."

"Bollux!" Blaise scoffed. "You don't even know what you're talking about. You have never been involved in the service and if you don't start soon, you'll be slaughtered with the rest of the Dumbledore admirers."

"Shut up, Zabini!" the blonde bit back and turned to the scholar. "What do you mean my mother's the queen?"

Theo smiled sadly. "She's what motivates all the other pieces to action."

"How?"

"Have you ever noticed that pieces move to protect their queen even before they protect their king. The queen is valuable, and the player knows it. People don't chase the king until the queen has been taken or is overwhelmed. You, Snape, Lestrange, and your father are all moving across the board with an express interest in protecting your mother. In doing so, they are fulfilling the player's desires, and the king is forgotten at the back of the battle. In a way, the king sacrifices itself in order to prolong his life."

Draco's gaze was transfixed on the boy, trying to comprehend what he was saying. The Dark Lord was using his mother not just to control him, but also to control all of his family. If that's true, then…

"Bloody hell, Nott, what have you been reading?" Zabini snickered. "You do realize that you're making a wizarding chess analogy, right? I think you have spent way too much time on your own."

"Maybe you just need to get out of the dorm for a while," Pansy suggested, quick to pick up on a less confrontational subject. "Why don't you sit with us at lunch today."

"Whoa, wait, you're inviting him into the group now? After that load of bollux?"

Draco tuned out the pointless bickering and sifted through the analogy carefully. He already knew that Voldemort was using his mother to make him comply, but he wondered how many others might be controlled in the same way. How many followers are not really followers at all, and how many of them only obey to protect their loved ones from murder?

Sacrifices itself to prolong its life…

Horcrux.

He sent Theo a curious look. No, he couldn't possibly know about Horcruxes. There was no way. If a Malfoy didn't know about it, none of his classmates did. Well, maybe the Gryffindor trio would, but he seriously doubted it. So… was the entire chess analogy just inconsequential? Was that last line simply a coincidence?

Draco stood and headed for the door, drawing the attention of the other three. "I'm going to the Room of Requirement. I'll catch up with you at the Halloween Feast tonight." With that, Draco left the dormitory. Zabini scowled at being left out, Pansy watched with pity, and Theo returned an equally curious gaze, wondering if perhaps he would become more involved with this as time went on.

TBC…

AN: Most of you gave up on me, and I don't blame you. I'm lacking a lot of motivation to write. Your reviews definitely help to encourage me though. I hope you enjoyed this very late installment. It is so hard to write as someone who doesn't know what a Horcrux is when you know everything there is to know about Horcruxes. XD