Chapter Eighteen: Atop the Tower

"We did it! I can't believe it actually worked."

"Potter saved the day. Slughorn is alive. The Dark Lord will not forgive a mistake a second time."

"There won't be any. I promise."

"Good, because that pathetic Potions teacher isn't the only one who must die."

There are many conversations. Some are important, others so inconsequential that if someone asked you to remember them you'd only be able to recall a gist. A flash of something, the intent maybe, or what the outcome was. As Tracey Davis climbed the steps of the Astronomy Tower, she wished what she had to say was one of those conversations. She wished she would forget every word within a few days and remember only what small words and phrases her brain, which was chock full of revision notes and exam deadlines, could remember.

But with every step, her heart sank because this wasn't one of those conversations.

The night was balmy, a warm breeze blew her hair gently so that it almost fell into her eyes. The figure didn't turn, just kept looking out on the grounds far below. Not for the first time, she wished she'd told Daphne. Daph always knew what to say, or at least, said whatever came to her mind. Her filterless friend was what she needed.

God, why hadn't she said anything? She'd tried to convince herself it was because of the Ministry, of the questions, because she had enough on her plate. Perhaps that was part of it, but it wasn't the reason, not really. It was the bone-aching desire that pulled her from her bed and caused her to walk the halls alone, to clamber up the tower alone, to find him alone. Because Daphne would've stopped her, would've come with her, would've talked her out of any number of ideas that sprung to her mind.

Love, Tracey was beginning to understand, made people stupid. That was something her dad had always said. Love made her mother stupid enough to fall for him when a whole world of magic and mystery existed - yet she fell for the muggle moron as he called himself. Tracey's mother laughed at that, kissed him and said he was just a moron, being a muggle had nothing to do with it.

She wished he loved her like that.

"Blaise?"

The boy didn't turn at the sound of his name, but she saw him stiffen ever so slightly. For all of his bravado and charm, Tracey could see the scared little boy beneath the surface. The one who'd always made her laugh, the one she'd been so proud to tell her parents was taking her to the Yule Ball, had been longing to see day after day in the Summer. He had to be in there, didn't he?

"How did you know I'd be here?"

"We've been friends for years." Even in the half-light, Tracey could see the tears that stained his cheeks as she moved closer to him. It took everything she had not to leap across the small space and hug him, yank him towards her and tell him everything was going to be okay. "I know you."

"My dear -" He always called them that, her and Daphne, when they'd just been friends. Back when hormones and dating and boys weren't something that preoccupied them constantly. "I barely know myself."

"You're scared, that's okay. I get it."

"No, you don't. Besides, I went beyond scared a long time ago." His eyes never left the ground far below them. Slowly and fighting every fibre of her being, Tracey took a single step towards him.

"I know you didn't do it," Tracey ventured. "I know Daph thinks you did and Harry and the Ministry have been asking questions but I know you didn't. I know that, okay? 'Cause I know you. I know you cou-couldn't…"

"Kill someone? Rob a man of his life in a rather futile and desperate attempt to save my own?" Please be right. Please, please be right. "He would have me kill you, you know? The Dark Lord."

Her breath hitched in her throat and only then, only when sheer terror and panic clawed in her throat, made her blood run cold, did he turn his dark eyes to her.

"I could. Right now. You wouldn't even be able to stop me."

"Blaise -"

"If you know me so well, tell me, would I?"

"Blaise, pl -" He drew his wand so fast that Tracey didn't even have time to reach for her own. Was it raining? No, it couldn't be. It was warm. She wanted to cast her eyes to heavens, but couldn't tear her gaze from the wand that held its life in her hands.

"Tell me."

"No. You wouldn't."

"Then why are you crying?" Oh, that's what that was.

"I panic when people talk about killing me." Had breathing always been this hard? Had her heart always been able to race this fast? "But no, no you won't do this. I loved you, okay? I loved you more than anything. I know you, I know you wouldn't - Please, Blaise. Please tell me you're still in there."

"It's them or me."

"What're you -"

"Slughorn, Potter, Greengrass, you. All of you. You or me."

Then do it, that's what Daphne would've said. She'd have dared him to do the act that he so clearly stood on the precipice of committing, Tracey wished she could be that stupid.

"It doesn't have to be that simple."

Blaise laughed, humourless and angry, before the ghost of a smile pulled at his features. Not long ago Tracey would've done anything to see him smile at her, but at the top of the Tower, with a wand in her face, she preferred the emotionless husk that was staring into nothing. Then, without hesitation, he unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt and revealed the one thing that could make Tracey doubt her own assertions.

The skull writhed, twisting and tormenting her, the empty eye sockets staring into her very soul.

"You didn't."

"I had no choice."

"There's always a choice."

"Easy for you to say. My mother loathed that I wouldn't be continuing the Zabini name, said it was the least I could do after she'd done so much for me. As if providing constant men who despised my existence was a treat. I didn't even have to wait a day before they arrived, they courted my mother, told her of the Dark Lord's plans and hinted, rather dully I might add, that if she were not to commit our family to their cause that we would die.

"They wanted eyes in Hogwarts. I, rather foolishly, believed that would be it. But then spying was never going to be enough, was it? One day we would need to prove our loyalty."

"They asked you to kill Slughorn?"

"Yes," Blaise admitted. "We hatched the rather mundane plan of poison, one of us would deliver a deadly dose to him at the party and you know how that went."

"And did you? Was it you?"

"No." His jaw tightened. "Whatever happened to you knew me."

"The Blaise I knew wouldn't be this…"

"Stupid?"

"Selfish."

Blaise moved towards her, his wand pressing into her stomach. Gently, he pulled a strand of hair from her face. He was so close she could feel his breath on her skin. "Then perhaps you didn't know me as well as you thought."

oOo

Hidden away from the rest of the castle, Harry lay on his back and stared at the cracked ceiling above him. No one looked up, so some of the unused classrooms were in a state of disrepair simply because the school would never collapse and student-less rooms didn't need to look pretty. But it was what he needed, he needed a place to think, a place to exist and not be disturbed.

Seven.

The word rang in his mind, impossibly loud and even more confusing. Seven pieces. Not one, not two, no, seven. With the Diary gone that left five horcruxes and the original piece of Voldemort's soul, the one that had been blast from his body the night Harry's parents had died.

One down, five to go. But where did they even start looking? Where would you hide a Horcrux and more to the point, what the hell could it even be? What would Voldemort want his Horcruxes to be? The diary was his first, of that Harry was sure. If it was a mistake, well, the thought of tiny ten-year-old Tom going on a murder rampage was not one he really wanted to consider.

No, it had to be later. In secret.

Secrets. Harry was beginning to get sick of secrets. The prophecy, the Horcruxes, Dumbledore's refusal to even look at him for a year, even Slughorn's own secret. Kept because of shame when it could save so many lives. All except one, Harry supposed. He kept staring at the stars, trying to focus on the Big Dipper or finding Orion's Belt, which was rather bright. Anything was better than thinking about Slughorn, about remembering the oozing foam running from his mouth or the horror on the faces that surrounded him. Even what they'd said. Greengrass killed him. Because it was so much easier to blame the Slytherin, wasn't it?

After all, wasn't that what he was doing? Blaise. He'd been scared, petrified even. He had to have known, didn't he? If anyone was going to kill Slughorn, surely it'd be a bunch of Death Eaters in waiting. Which begged the question, who were they? Malfoy, that much was obvious. Goyle, Crabbe, probably. Older Slytherins, Montague? Had any of them been there?

And what about non-Slytherins? Daphne was proof a badge wasn't everything, hell, Pettigrew was even better proof. He tried to remember who'd been at the party, but they were just a sea of faces, all except the Defence Club members. Ernie. Neville. Hermione. Justin. Susan. It wouldn't be any of them, the Hufflepuffs would never betray Susan's aunt.

His fingers found the mirror on his chest before he was even aware of reaching for it.

"Sirius Black," he said, looking at his own reflection. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was far greasier than he'd meant for it to get. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been in there.

But then his reflection faded and was replaced by his godfather's beaming face. It was still taking a lot for him to get used to. The Sirius he'd known was dour, a man trapped in a cave or his mother's house. Even in the moonlight, Harry could see the change in his godfather, because this Sirius was free and certainly making good use of it. The house they'd talked about stood in all its glory behind him and as Harry watched he took a swig from a muggle beer Harry didn't recognise.

"Evening, Harry," Sirius said jovially. "Blimey, bit dark, isn't it? Where are you?"

"Classroom," Harry explained. "I needed to think."

"Slughorn?"

"Kind of," Harry admitted. He'd not told anyone about the Horcruxes, all except Ron, Hermione and Daphne. Daphne had advised against telling Dumbledore, while Ron and Hermione staunchly said the best thing to do was march to his office. Except, Daphne had a point. If he went straight to Dumbledore what came next would be Dumbledore's plan and he'd just be walking it. For once, he wanted to be the paver not the pedestrian in his own life.

"You saved a man's life, Harry. That's not easy."

"It's not that. It's… He knew something, Sirius. About Voldemort." The arched eyebrows told Harry exactly how much Dumbledore had shared with the Order. The same nothing he'd heard his entire life. "And I don't know what to do. Ron and Hermione, they said tell Dumbledore but Daph…"

"Smart girl that one," Sirius said, the grin he'd been wearing had vanished and suddenly there was the godfather Harry had known. "Dumbledore's a lot of things Harry, but perfect isn't one of them."

"You still trust him?"

"I do," Sirius nodded. "But caution isn't a bad thing. Dumbledore's not exactly given you a wagonload of reasons to trust him, has he? Look, whatever it is, you'll do what's right. You always do."

"Horcruxes." The word fell from his mouth before he'd even meant it to. "Voldemort's got horcruxes."

Sirius blinked, then set his beer down, leaning forwards in the garden chair he'd set up. Harry could tell he was holding the mirror in both hands, his elbows pressed into his thighs, as if he were trying to lean into the classroom. "Horcruxes? Plural?"

"Six of them, yeah. He wanted to split his soul seven times, so that makes six horcuxes. That's what he asked Slughorn, when he was at school. The Diary and I don't know what else. And I want to tell Dumbledore, I do, I just… What if he does what he did with the prophecy?"

"When dealing with Voldemort, Harry, a certain level of secrecy is needed. Remember, Peter?"

It always came back to Peter. "But that's how he works, isn't it? He wants us killing each other, so he doesn't have to."

"Then what would you do?" Sirius asked patiently, which was definitely not an emotion he normally connected with Sirius.

"I don't know."

"I think you might have an idea," Sirius nudged gently. "You get rid of what you don't want to do, what's left?"

"I want to tell people. People we trust."

"And how will you know it's them you're talking to? Polyjuice potion isn't impossible to make, remember?"

"But that's not -"

"I once nearly got killed by a Death Eater posing as a muggle baker," Sirius told him with a rather concerning expression of nostalgia for his near-demise. "Trust me, they'll try anything."

"What would you do?"

"Something reckless and exciting probably," Sirius shrugged. "But this isn't my idea, Harry. It's yours."

"A little help would be nice," Harry grumbled, but couldn't stop himself from grinning. It was strange actually being asked for his opinion. "Okay, we only tell a few people and we… There's got to be some way of getting past polyjuice, like a spell that makes people reveal who they are?"

"Runes actually. Bloody expensive, but they do exist."

"So we put some in agreed places. Your house, Grimmauld Place, some, I don't know, hideouts or something. We only talk about it there. Dumbledore could stick some at the gates. That way everyone in Hogwarts is who they say they are." Which would've stopped the fake Mad-Eye jumping him the previous year.

"And what's to stop one of us being tortured?" Sirius asked, killing Harry's enthusiasum faster than a pin taking air from a balloon. "Or having our memories pulled from our heads by Voldemort?"

"I - I don't know. I'm not Hermione. But there's got to be something." He paused, conscious that he was probably giving Sirius motion sickness as his arms bounced up and down to the rhythm of his jerking legs. "Like the Fidelius charm, something we can get people to do or sign that stops them being able to talk about it to anyone that doesn't already know."

"It's never been used on a phrase, but you could be onto something."

They discussed options for what could've been hours and Sirius agreed to come in to visit Dumbledore at the weekend, if they were going to get the Headmaster involved - which given the Order they had to at some point - Harry wanted to make sure he wasn't the only voice in the room. After all, two people were better than one.

That left a few days to calm the others down, to focus on his exams, to try and somehow live a normal life.

Because everything had been so normal for him so far.

He checked his watch, swore, and sprung to his feet. It was past curfew, he hadn't even fished the cloak from the depths of his trunk. Cursing Sirius, Harry snatched up his robes and hurried to the door. He saw no one, except for Peeves who was merrily singing something about spinsters and their many daughters as he jammed stink bombs into the trophy cabinets.

It was when he reached the sixth floor that the sound of footsteps that weren't his own echoed further down the corridor. Candlelight swung backwards and forwards from the adjoining corridor. Teacher or prefect? If it was a prefect then there was a good chance it was someone he knew and could, hopefully, convince to let him off for being out of the Tower during curfew. A teacher?

Wishing more than ever that he'd thought about the cloak, he ducked into the only place he could, a small broom closet filled to the brim with foul-smelling liquids and a broom that he was fairly certain hadn't been cleaned in about one hundred years. There was a mutter? What was it? A spell? A listless thought made real. Blinded, trapped in the tight cupboard, Harry held his breath as each step grew louder and louder and then stopped.

Detention. Great, just what he needed.

"I know you're in there."

"Daph?"

"Harry?"

Relieved, Harry fell from the cupboard spluttering and spewing forth a small cloud of God only knew what. Before him, shaking her head and looking every bit the prefect she pretended to despise being, was Daphne.

"A broom cupboard, really?"

"I thought you were a teacher."

"I literally told you I had rounds tonight," she said, rolling her eyes. "I swear you don't listen."

"I forgot." He wanted to point out that, in fairness, he'd had a lot on his mind, but so had she and Slughorn was the first person she'd nearly seen die. Whenever the topic came up, Daphne, being Daphne, deflected and joked and pirouetted away from the sheer stress of cradling a man in her arms as he almost died.

"I could make you write lines until you remember," Daphne said with a devilish grin. "I must be a good boyfriend. I must be -"

"Yeah alright, I'm sorry."

"You will be," she winked before passing him the lantern. "Payment." It was as light as a feather, but Harry suspected that had more to do with Daphne's charm skills than his own strength. "Where were you anyway? Bit late for practice."

"Chatting to Sirius," he yawned. "Lost track of time."

"And what did your dear dogfather have to say?"

Harry snorted. He'd have to remember that one. "Reckons I should tell Dumbledore." The derision on Daphne's face was impossibly easy to see, even as they began walking down the corridor together. "He's got a point."

"Why? Because Dumbledore's decided he's the only one who can stop Voldemort?"

"Pretty much," Harry shrugged, causing the lamp to jostle slightly and sending light dancing across the empty hallway. Hogwarts always was eerie at night, as though the soul had been sucked from the place. It was impossible not to tell Dumbledore, whether he wanted to admit it or not. The Headmaster knew the most about Voldemort, he'd known about the prophecy, spent years fighting him and even been his professor. Missing out on that information, just because Harry didn't like how he'd been treated, wasn't smart - it was selfish.

"But Sirius agreed that we shouldn't just do it his way either. So, I'm doing it my way."

"Even if Dumbledore disagrees?"

"I'm the one that's supposed to deal with him." Neither can live while the other survives. "It's about time."

"I couldn't agree more." He felt her arm weave its way between his and his body. A rare quiet moment, they didn't get many. Would they ever? With Malfoy roaming the place trying to -

"Have you still got the map?"

"Hmm?" Daphne tilted her head, moving it from the place of comfort she'd found on his shoulder. "Oh, yeah. Don't look at me like that, there wasn't anyone around 'til you showed up."

"They could've -"

"They wouldn't be stupid enough to attack anyone so soon," Daphne interrupted, but she removed the map from the pocket of her robes. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good. Your dad and his mates were so weird. Look, see, it's just us."

And it was, halted on the sixth floor with no one around them. Harry's eyes instantly flicked to the dungeons where he saw Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Montegue, and then Snape in his office. "Hang on. Where's Zabini?"

"Probably knocking off some…" Daphne trailed away, it didn't take Harry long to realise why but by the time he had Daphne was already sprinting down the corridor.

oOo

"I know you won't kill me," Tracey breathed, trying not to focus on the wand in her belly or the coldness in Blaise's eyes. Even the racing heart trying to flee her chest wasn't helping. So much for cunning, she walked straight up there. No thought, no consideration, just blind optimism and hopes that the boy sulking at the top of the tower was the one she fell for.

But he wasn't a boy, he was a Death Eater.

"I don't have a choice."

"You do, it's not too late. Look at, erm, look at Snape. Right? He's here, he's - he's not on -"

She screamed as Blaise slammed her hard against the wall before his free hand wrapped around her neck, forcing the air from her lungs. "Who do you think recruited us? Draco? He started this but he hasn't got the brains to finish it."

oOo

"Can you stop thinking like a muggle," Daphne snapped, yanking open a classroom door that, as far as Harry could tell was nowhere near the Astronomy Tower. "And start, please, for once, thinking like a wizard."

oOo

Desperation was starting to take hold of Tracey. If she went for her wand she'd snap whatever band was letting Blaise keep hold of himself. So instead of magic, she clawed at his hand, digging her nails into his soft skin. Her head pounded. Blood thundered in her ears. She tried to buck against him but he was too strong.

"I have to do this," he said, not angrily or even confidently. The only thing she could hear in his voice was apology, which would've been great if she could breathe. "I have to. I have t- AH!"

Air, finally, flooded back into Tracey's lungs as she dropped to the ground. Spluttering, wracking coughs convulsed her, as she tried to scramble away, before, for a second time, the breath left her body as Blaise's boot thundered into her chest.

"You should have left me up here," Blaise said from her above, her free hand clutching the eye she'd rammed a finger into to break free. Blood was trickling from beneath his dark-skinned hand and, for the tiniest of moments, Tracey wanted to laugh. At least she'd done something.

"And you should've come to me. You should've said. I could've -"

"Helped? You could have saved me, is that it? Like Parkinson?" Even though her body was screaming at her, Tracey felt her blood run cold. "Yes. They know about your little ploy. I'd be amazed if she makes it past exams."

"You can't just keep killing people."

"Why not?" Blaise asked as he hunkered down before her, pressing his wand hard into her neck. "The Dark Lord will kill us if we don't. Do you know the key to winning any war, my dear? Take out your opponent before it even starts."

"You know, that sounds like a great idea," said a girl's voice from high above them. "Stupefy!"