AN: sorry for the long wait. I'm back into a Harry Potter phase which means I'm writing a lot for this story at the moment so there should be a few updates coming in the next month or so. I'll try and update the next chapter next week or maybe even sooner if I get impatient.
Harry strode through the door after his godfather, confident his friends were right behind him. He followed Sirius down a dimmed corridor, past the kitchen and to the main meeting room. It was almost exactly how Harry remembered it. A long table, chairs - mostly empty - scattered across the room, and papers strewn across every surface. Each wall bar one was lined with bookshelves, similarly overflowing. The only difference between then and now was how empty the room was.
There was no Dumbledore, painfully silent at the head of the table. No eye darting around the room looking for hidden weaponry. It was just two familiar faces, sitting next to each other, heads huddled together.
"Look who it is." Sirius says as he leads them into the room. The two look up in unison, matching smiles appear on weary faces.
"Alice." Harry eases into her embrace.
"Harry," Alice places her hand on his chin, gently twisting his head side-to-side. "How are you?"
"Good." Harry stiffens. "We're all good. What about you? How's the fatigue? And the tremor," Harry grips her left hand. It shakes slightly. "Your hand has improved a lot?"
"I feel much better, physically that is."
"A warzone isn't the best place to wake up in." Harry replies. "You'll let me run some diagnostic checks?"
Alice nods. "But later. First, eat. Rest. Talk about whatever business it is that has driven you here."
"Ask for the favours you need." Neville adds cynically, but his smile is amiable.
"Neville," Harry's grin widens as he clasps the boy's shoulder. Somehow nearly all of his favourite people in the world were in this room. Sirius, Terry, Anthony, Neville and Alice. "How are you?"
"Doing alright." Neville replies. His eyes dart between the three of them. Harry wonders how dishevelled they all look. "And you?"
"Well," the grin slips off Harry's face, "we haven't all been lucky enough to have shelter and plumbing the last few weeks."
"You were at Malfoy Manor?" Neville returns to where he had been sitting before they'd walked in, hands shuffling through papers.
"Until yesterday." Harry nods. "We managed to rescue Luna and Ollivander from there too." He says. Neville's face splits into a relieved grin.
"Good. That's good." Neville replies. "But... why were you there?"
Harry shares a look with Terry and Anthony. They'd become accustomed to secrecy. Sometimes it was hard to offer up information, even when necessary. "We're looking for Gryffindor's sword."
Neville straightens up in his seat. "To kill horcruxes?"
"You know our mission?" Harry's eyes dart towards Sirius who nods gravely.
"It's not here." Neville replies.
"We figured." Terry cuts in, his finger tangling itself in the chain on his neck. "We also thought there was a chance you might know where it is?"
Neville looked between Sirius and Alice. Clearly the Order wasn't exempt from paranoia.
Sirius sighs. "Hogwarts."
"We think." Neville adds.
"Well, fuck." Terry says eloquently. "That's just perfect isn't it."
"It's nothing that we hadn't already theorised." Anthony placates.
Alice's eyes dart between the three of them anxiously. "Let's get you three some dinner. And you all look like you need to rest."
Harry's face slips into an easy smile. "The dining room is one of the few rooms in this house Dumbledore actually allowed me to go in." He says, walking out the door and leading the way. In days past he'd be being guided around, under watchful eyes lest he accidentally stumble upon some Order secret. Now he's able to walk freely in his godfather's house for the first time.
"How have you boys been eating?" Alice asks.
"Not well. Terry's an awful cook." Anthony replies quickly.
"Fuck off."
"Well," Alice takes it all in her stride. "Molly's an excellent cook, and she's already working on dinner." The three boys look between each other gleefully.
The dining room is busier than Harry expected. He'd expected a few Weasleys, maybe Hermione. He hadn't expected to find twenty Hogwarts students stumbling over each other as they set the table and slice vegetables. Molly's orchestrating the entire thing, her voice the one thing which can overcome the bustling noise of a busy kitchen.
The chatter stops abruptly as twenty heads turn in their direction.
There's almost a full set of Weasleys. One of the older one's is missing, Arthur's not there, and of course Ginny who's still at Hogwarts. Susan, Hannah and Justin are crowded over a corner of the table, sheets of paper in front of them, discussing something which seems important. Dean Thomas is still tied to the hip of Seamus Finnegan, but Lisa Turpin and the Patil sisters are with them too. Hermione's instructing Ron on how to cut peppers properly, whilst each Weasley twin is assigned to their own pot of something - Harry might avoid that particularly dish if he has the choice.
Tonks, Lupin, a woman who Harry's pretty sure is Andromeda Tonks - Nymphadora's mother - are sitting at the opposite end to the table to the Hufflepuffs with Arthur and Bill Weasley.
"This is the Order?" Harry turns to Alice.
Alice nods, a small smile gracing her face. "Some of it." She says proudly.
"And who leads it?" Terry asks.
Hermione turns to them, not bothering to pretend she (nor the other twenty-or-so people in the room) weren't eavesdropping. "We have a combined leadership group. Myself, Neville, Alice, Kingsley and Professor Lupin."
"I've told you to call me Remus, Hermione." Lupin stands up, walking over to them. "It's good to see you again." He says. Harry nods in response. He's too overwhelmed to do much more.
"So the Order is finally allowing the younger generation to have a role?" Terry asks.
"After Dumbledore died we realised there wasn't much choice."
"Besides," Sirius pipes up from behind them, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder as he comes into the room. "It's not like we weren't your age when we all started with this. That's what happens when a war starts. You have to take everyone you can get."
"It's not like our lives weren't under threat anyway." Hermione says.
"So, what are all of your roles? I haven't heard of a successful organised resistance." Anthony says quietly, playing with the chain around his neck. There's a dangerous glint in his eyes that Harry's grown accustomed to.
Hermione bristles, mouth opening to respond when Alice waves her off. "We can discuss business after dinner. Not during. These boys haven't had a good meal in..."
"Months." Harry answers. "Malfoy Manor didn't have the best hospitality."
"Well," Molly claps her hands together. "I think dinner is about ready now. Everyone, sit down. Fred, George, put the pots on the table. Ron, sort out the sides." Molly instructs. Everyone scrambles to their seats. As various Weasleys carry over pots, and plates, and it's Molly herself carrying a huge chicken.
Harry's stomach growls.
In the end, Harry's not able to stomach too much of dinner. Images of Burbage's rotting limbs strewn across the dungeon of Malfoy Manor flood his mind each time he lifts the fork. Harry's not sure whether he prefers the memories of her, or of Malfoy himself. At least with Burbage there's some detachment. Harry never took Muggle Studies after all.
Draco Malfoy, on the other hand. Well, Harry's never quite found a way to detach himself from him.
"Does it update automatically?" Harry asks, tracing his fingers along the tapestry.
Sirius shifts. "For those of us who haven't been blasted off, yes. Kreacher said that's how they all found out about… about my brother."
Harry's eyes turn to Regulus Black's picture. The spot next to it is charred and thoroughly blasted to the point where neither Sirius' name or face can be seen. Regulus himself is immortalised at nineteen. He was only a year older than Harry is now when he died. All for the locket which they still can't destroy.
Terry had tried to learn how to cast fiendfyre at one point. It had gone… well, to say 'poorly' would be an understatement – as the various fire departments called to some remote part of Gloucestershire would agree.
The sword of Gryffindor, and basilisk venom – as mutually hard to come by as they were – were the best options.
Hence why Harry found himself back in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
It felt odd to be here without Dumbledore watching over him. Despite the location – as Harry now knew – belonging to his own godfather, Harry was never given open access. Perhaps if he'd have played like a snake – like Malfoy or Blaise would have – Harry could have taken his place in the Order of the Phoenix as a member and not a visitor. Then he would have been privy all of the ongoings and various discussions, and not just the ones which pertained to the prophecy.
But Harry's dislike of Dumbledore was too famous for anyone to disregard. The events succeeding the final task of that damned tournament had proven that much. It would have been obvious even to the likes of Mundungus Fletcher that Harry was faking loyalty to gain access to the secrets of the Order.
"Prongs' Pamphlet…" Sirius starts, an odd inflection in his tone. "I know it's named for your father, but, your mother… Lily would have loved it."
"I wish I could take more credit for it." Harry rubs the back of his neck. "Terry's the one who writes it, and as for the name, well… that was," Harry inhales sharply, "That was Mike's idea. He, uh, he always understood family the best."
Sirius grips Harry's shoulder. "Neither of us have had the best experience with that, have we?"
"Once I was with Luke it was good."
"I wish…"
"Let's not play the 'I wish' game, Sirius. You didn't ask for Azkaban. I didn't ask for the Dursleys. And none of us asked for any of this."
Sirius nods tersely. Harry follows his gaze to Bellatrix Lestrange.
"Was she always so mad?"
"It goes this way."
"What does?"
Sirius ducks his head. "The Black family. We come in threes. Madness strikes one. It always has."
"This is one of those Black superstitions?"
"The eldest child is estranged." He points to two charred spots. Sirius' own. Then Andromeda's. "We don't all get blasted off. That was more mother's specialty. Of course, a few…" He gestures towards the top of the tapestry. It's faded, for the most part, but the black singed fabric stands out. "The middle children are mad. Bellatrix, Caelum. And the youngest…" Sirius' hand lingers over Regulus. His finger slightly graze his image. "They epitomise what it is to be a Black."
"And what's that?"
"They play both sides. Don't overly commit. Normally, they play everything strategically and play safe. Narcissa got married to Lucius, but even during the first war he had enough power to not allow himself to be attributed to either side. There's irony in this, Harry, but to be a true Black you have to be grey. Maintain the family image and make sure the family line continues if your eldest siblings have failed."
"But Regulus…" Harry trails off carefully.
"Regulus didn't account for You-Know-Who's disdain towards the Blacks. However much my mother lusted after You-Know-Who, he never shared those affections. Regulus… Well, obviously I didn't realise this until recently, but he never truly allied himself with either. He was never actually loyal to You-Know-Who. My father wouldn't have permitted him to decline himself into true subservience anyway. Not after I was booted out, and Caelum..."
"And Caelum…?" Harry prompts. It's hard to get Sirius to talk about any member of his family. Sirius didn't open up about Regulus at all until Harry had learnt about the locket. But Sirius' other brother? He might as well have never existed. The only real proof that he did indeed exist was embroidered onto the tapestry before Harry. Caelum Black, immortalised at ten years old.
"Honestly Harry, I don't know much about Caelum, or what happened to him. Before I left for my first year of Hogwarts, he was just my younger brother. My slightly annoying younger brother who garnered much of my parents' attention. On reflection, I think they were trying to make sure he didn't go insane. Bellatrix's parents – my aunt and uncle – they were less attentive to her. They just let her run free and by the time she was eleven she was already ripping legs of frogs and hiding them in her sisters' beds. Narcissa hated her." Sirius grins. "Those two… well, their relationship was always explosive…"
"But Caelum?" Harry prompts. He'd seen enough of Narcissa and Bellatrix recently. He didn't feel the need to reminisce about the days when the two sisters were fighting each other – and not him.
The grin slips from Sirius' face. "He wasn't here by the time I got back for the summer." He says, matter-of-fact.
"And that was that? Your brother was just gone and you didn't even question it?"
"I questioned it." Sirius retorts, eyes narrowing at Harry for just a second. "That earned me my father's belt. So I stopped questioning it."
"And you just let it go. You let your brother go?" Harry can't imagine it. He's never had a brother – not a biological one at least – but he has Terry and Anthony. He would never let either of them go without a fight.
"Of course not. I found out through Regulus. He was always good at sneaking around, at manipulating information from my parents – or from the house elves. Oh, he knew how to get the house elves on his side! Caelum never got a letter from Hogwarts."
"He was a squib?"
"Yes."
"So your parents kicked him out and pretended he never existed?"
"For the likes of my parents – for a Black – there is no worse crime than siring a squib. No greater dishonour. Nothing is more humiliating. So Regulus and I were ordered to not mention his name at Hogwarts – James was confused, to say the least, when my little brother I'd spoken so fondly about never appeared on the train – and that was that. Caelum wasn't mad, as far as I remember. But he was a squib. And as far as the wizarding elite are concerned, there's nothing worse than that."
"This… theory. The theory of three Blacks and these… characteristics that each have… It doesn't transfer through marriage?" Harry eyes Narcissa. Lucius Malfoy does not have enough importance to the Black family to earn a face on the tapestry, but his name is embroidered besides hers (Narcissa Black, not Malfoy as far as the tapestry is concerned). Draco Malfoy was only on the tapestry by name. Name and a date. His date of birth. There's a dash besides it, and a space waiting to be filled. But for now the date of his death has not come, so the space stays empty. It's that space that Harry finds his eyes pulled to.
"The… curse… it stays with the name, so, no, Draco Malfoy is not affected by it. Nor will any curse or family obligation require that Lucius and Narcissa sire two more children."
"If you have children…"
"Those days are past." Sirius replies firmly.
"You're still in your thirties. By wizarding terms – hell, my muggle terms – you're young enough."
"I refuse to continue the Black line. I'm very happy for it to die with me."
"But it won't." Harry says. It's Sirius' immediate family who grace the centre of the tapestry, but there are still other lines. There are still other Blacks. Each comes in a set of three.
Sirius stiffens. "Maybe the war will do some good and take them all out."
"You want that? Your entire family wiped out?"
"Yes." Sirius replies stubbornly.
"Are they truly all that bad?"
"They're Blacks." Sirius replies, as if that answers enough.
"I don't want my family line to die out." Harry says quietly.
Sirius turns to him sharply. "It won't."
"It will." Harry returns. Sirius shakes his head violently as though he's once more a dog and is trying to flick water from his fur.
"I won't let it."
"You're not stupid enough to think you have any say in the matter." Harry replies. Sirius bristles. "But I appreciate the sentiment." Harry appeases gently, resting a hand on Sirius' arm.
"This Horcrux magic you've written about… that's dark stuff."
"Terry wrote the pamphlets," Harry corrects reflexively, "And yeah, I know. We have spent the better part of the last six months hunting them – longer if you count everything I did with Dumbledore."
"Harry, what I mean is, Horcruxes are dark magic, and… Well I know that I said earlier that being a true Black, is being grey – not committing to the light or the dark – but… Well… We're also one of the oldest families in wizarding Britain. And…"
"Sirius." Harry lifts an eyebrow.
"The Black family, well, we know a lot about dark magic."
"You think you know something Dumbledore didn't?" Harry can't quite hid the scepticism from his voice.
"I think Dumbledore, as excellent as he was," Harry scowls, "was limited to the light. He wanted to be good. He…"
"He's the type of person to think that the innate ability to love is enough to defeat the dark."
"Exactly." Sirius replies. "Whereas we Blacks, well, above everything else we have always prioritised survival. By any means…"
"You're saying that you have family members with Horcruxes?" Harry asks, digging his fingers into the palm of his hands.
"No. No. I don't think so at least." Sirius replies quickly, but there's a flicker of doubt in his eyes that sends Harry's hairs up on ends. "It was an avenue of research, however. Ultimately my ancestors believed it was something that should be safeguarded against. That's why it's only accessible in the library of the Black family home, in a section similar to the restricted section of the library, which can only be accessed with the blood of the current Lord Black."
"You?"
"Me." Sirius nods. "When I read the pamphlets you wrote – or Terry wrote – I figured I'd try and look into it. Before then I'd been avoiding the library like the plague. I hate that place. My father had an office in there and…" Sirius trails off, face paling. "I never liked the place. But… for the war, for you, I figured I had to check. And, well, I found some things."
"You found some things?" Harry prompts eagerly.
"I found out how to destroy them." Sirius replies proudly.
Harry tries to hide the disappointment on his face. They know how to destroy Horcruxes. Harry's already destroyed one. Dumbledore destroyed the second. Not that Sirius – or anyone alive outside of Harry, Terry and Anthony – knows that. None of them even know that Voldemort has more than one Horcrux. All three of them agreed vehemently that the information you could create more than one Horcrux should remain hidden to the public. Still, there are pretences to uphold – and perhaps Sirius' information obtains something useful.
"Can you show me?"
"You're writing again?" Harry asks as he walks into the room the Order has set up for him and his friends. Terry's sitting by a desk whilst Anthony lies on the bed, eyes staring at the ceiling.
"It's your turn." Anthony sits up abruptly.
Harry catches the locket. "Do you think we could just leave it on a desk for a bit?" Harry asks, twisting the chain between his fingers. Terry shoots him a look. "Yeah, I know." Harry mutters, putting the locket around his neck. "Speaking of Horcruxes, Sirius had a book."
"I didn't know he could read." Anthony jests. Harry's pretty sure that where Anthony and the locket are concerned, half of it's just a placebo. Anthony allows the presence of the locket around his neck to mouth off and remind Harry of how his poor choices have fucked them all over, but the second the locket is off Anthony's immediately nicer. Or, if not nice, more willing to tease instead of insult. Harry's own experience with the locket is that the effects of it still linger with him for almost an hour once it's off.
Of course, that could be because Harry has his own Horcrux in the head.
Sometimes when he takes it off he thinks his own Horcrux punishes him. Terry theorises that 'the Harry Horcrux' (as they call it) likes the presence of the locket, that it sees the locket as a friend and perhaps that's why the locket effects Harry less than it does Anthony – or perhaps Harry's just more used to having negative influences in his mind and has learnt better how to tune them out. Then when Harry takes that connection away from his Horcrux, his Horcrux lashes out.
"He told me that there are three ways to destroy a Horcrux. Fiendfyre, basilisk venom and a Dementor's kiss."
"So he told you nothing useful. The Dementors are on You-Know-Who's side. They always have been."
"They're not on sides," Terry corrects boredly, "they just like the death and destruction You-Know-Who is causing so don't go after him."
"Which, for all intents and purposes, means they're on his side."
"Not to be pedantic –"
"Oh, you never are." Anthony snarks.
"But," Terry powers on, "them ignoring You-Know-Who doesn't mean they're on his side – they don't obey him or anything. So if we're being factual,"
"I wasn't finished." Harry interrupts the two of them.
"You said there were three ways to destroy a Horcrux. Then you listed three ways." Terry points out.
"I said Sirius told me there were three ways to destroy a Horcrux. Then Anthony interrupted me."
"Because you listed the three ways!"
"He has a point."
"Sirius gave me more information than just how to destroy them!" Harry retorts, irritated.
"Well, go on then."
"Yeah, hurry up Harry, we don't have all the time in the world." Anthony adds, a hint of a smile on his face. Bar the glaring absence, it reminded Harry of sixth year. Sixth year before everything went to crap. When everything was on the verge, but the war had not truly begun.
"I skimmed the book. It also mentioned – as more of theory in a footnote than a fact – that a killing curse could kill a living Horcrux. And that a living person – though, the book noted the improbability of a living Horcrux being able to be created – would likely be a better host than an object."
Any humour on Anthony's face dissipated at the mention of living Horcruxes. Terry's quill stopped in its tracks. Harry's nature wasn't something any of them tended to discuss in detail. Harry didn't want to confront the thought of his inevitable death, and he knew that both Anthony and Terry – despite any lingering grudges over what happened in sixth year – didn't either.
"Why is a living Horcrux a better host?"
"The inherent fallibility of a manmade object, for one thing. The diary proved that much. The book also mentioned that goblin-made items would be more desirable hosts for a Horcrux…"
"The cup."
"The locket."
"Yeah. So I was thinking that theory about Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem…"
"Rowena Ravenclaw's long-lost diadem." Terry corrects. "But yeah."
"But a living host is safer because the host actively protects itself in a way that an object cannot. When confronted with fiendfyre, the host would be able to run away, or if they were really skilled magically, they could extinguish the fiendfyre. When confronted with a basilisk, they could fight back. And with a Dementor,"
"Expecto Patronus," Anthony mutters, his wand tracing the actions. Only pale mist forms. Since Michael… well… even Harry found a corporeal Patronus harder to create.
"Yes. And, there was a theory that the Dementor's kiss would take the soul of the host and leave the Horcrux's soul fragment. Though I'm not sure on how accurate that would be, surely the Dementor just takes any piece of a soul?"
Terry hums. "It's an interesting question. I don't know how Dementors detect souls. I imagine the soul of Horcrux could be masked by the soul of the host, but once the soul of the host was removed I'd presume that the soul of the Horcrux would be found. Though, I wonder if the soul fragment within a Horcrux would be pure enough for a Dementor, or whether it would be too tainted, too corrupted…"
"Well, let's not test it out." Harry replies firmly.
"No, no. That wouldn't be good." Terry says, not meeting Harry's eyes.
"I'm sure this is very interesting – if we weren't actively being hunted at every second – but why is this relevant?"
Harry shares a look with Terry. "I just thought… Well, if living people are better hosts, then, once You-Know-Who realised that you actually could making a living person a host for Horcrux – you know, after," Harry drops his voice, "me, – then maybe that would be something he'd want to try again."
"You think he's put the last horcrux in another person?" Anthony asks, face blanched.
"It's a theory."
"Who?" Terry asks. "Bellatrix? Thicknesse? The Deputy Minister of Magic wouldn't be the worst person to be able to mind control via a…" Terry stops in his tracks, eyes darting to Harry.
Harry swallows. "I don't think he'd have chosen Bellatrix. She's too unstable. And I don't think he'd put a living host of a fragment of his soul in such a public position as Thicknesse is. I think it's someone he'd have around him a lot."
"Like Snape?" Anthony asks.
"No. He wouldn't trust Snape enough. He'd need someone who's entirely loyal to him. Loyal, powerful, but not an occlumens. Otherwise he couldn't…" Terry trails off.
"He couldn't mind control them?" Harry asks bluntly.
"Well, there's a reason Dumbledore wanted you to learn occlumency."
"I tried! I'm trying!" Harry protests. "It's not easy."
"If not Snape – or Bellatrix, or Thicknesse – then who? Malfoy?" Anthony asks. Harry's heart drops.
Terry looks over at Harry cautiously. "Lucius Malfoy isn't exactly You-Know-Who's favourite soldier. Nor is his son."
"So? Surely he doesn't have to like someone to put a bloody Horcrux in them? I mean, him and Harry aren't best buds."
"Harry was an accident. Or a last resort. Depending on which theory you believe in." Terry replies.
"Wait. Let's go back a few steps. Do we really think You-Know-Who knows that Harry is a… that living horcruxes are possible?"
"I don't know." Harry shrugs. "I don't think so? He hasn't tried to use the bond – not since… Not since Vernon, but… Maybe that's just my occlumency shields working." Terry scoffs. Harry glares at him. Terry has a way of dismissing Harry's efforts with ease. Just because Terry was better at occlumency than Harry doesn't mean that Harry didn't try to learn the art. Maybe clearing your head is just harder after you've endured a traumatic brain injury.
"So maybe he hasn't created another living horcrux?" Anthony suggests.
"It was just a theory." Harry says defensively.
"Even if You-Know-Who wasn't aware that he made Harry into a… host… Well, I don't think we should rule out the possibility that You-Know-Who is arrogant enough to try to make one anyway."
Harry grits his teeth. "Obviously." Harry says, before taking in a deep breath. Terry and Anthony exchange a look. "So, are we going to Hogwarts?"
"After we sort out the cup." Terry eventually says. Anthony nods in agreement.
"The cup first."
"Fine. But it won't be easy."
"You know where it is?" Terry asks, incredulous. "Since when?"
Harry shifts uncomfortably. "Since the Manor."
"And… your source… is he trustworthy." Terry asks, glancing over at Anthony. Anthony in turn has his fists clenched at the mere allusion to him.
"About this? Yes." Harry replies. "I told you, he's on our side now."
"Until it doesn't benefit him." Anthony snarks.
"You think it benefits him now?" Harry snaps. "He could've died helping us get out of the Manor. Even you have to admit that the only reason we survived is because of him."
"I'm sure we would've figured out an alternative." Anthony says coolly.
"It doesn't matter. The cup. Where is it?" Terry interjects. He's gotten remarkably good at playing mediator – when he's not wearing the locket, of course.
"Gringotts. Bellatrix Lestrange's vault."
"Well fuck."
"Yeah, well. I have three plans. Two of them hinge on this..." Harry pulls a second wand out of his pocket.
"That's hers?" Terry asks. Harry nods. "How did you... When did you?"
Harry rubs the back of his neck. "Draco gave it to me when we were fighting." Harry admits. Anthony scowls. "I'm figuring that we can use it to bypass some security measures." Harry concludes before anyone can say anything more about Draco Malfoy and his role in their new plan.
"It won't be enough." Anthony says.
"It should be, if we have Sirius."
"Why would having Sirius Black help? Literally everyone who isn't in this house wants to kill him."
"He's Lord Black and Bellatrix is still a Black – sort of."
"Not if it's a Lestrange vault." Terry says.
"It's not. It's a personal vault. Bellatrix's personal vault. I asked Sirius about it – he's overly eager to help by the way – and it's likely that the vault was opened when she was Bellatrix Black, so he has some jurisdiction over it."
"If Sirius has jurisdiction over it, then why do we need the wand?" Anthony asks, still bitter over the source of the wand.
"Sirius has some jurisdiction." Harry corrects. "Not enough. But with the wand he can say that he's accessing it on her behalf, and that the fact the wand is still hers, and more importantly, the fact that the wand still obeys her – because it wasn't magically taken from her, but physically – indicates that she gave it to Sirius of her own free will. It helps, of course, that everyone who isn't a Death Eater thinks that Sirius is on You-Know-Who's side. That way the goblins, or any staff around, are more inclined to believe him."
"That's all a bit contrived." Anthony says.
Harry glares at him. "I know. That's why it's Plan B. It's what we do if we can't recruit Tonks to the cause. She can morph into Bellatrix. And with the wand that should be enough. But I don't know whether we want to recruit her into it. Whether we should trust her."
"I think we have to." Terry replies. "It's the best option. And the Order - inept as they may be at times - are on our side."
"Is Tonks' magic enough to fool the goblins?"
Harry shrugs. "Hopefully."
"Well, this plan has no flaws. I can't see anything going wrong."
"And if the wand doesn't work? You said you had three plans. What's the third?" Terry asks, tone more diplomatic than Anthony's.
"We fight our way through."
Terry laughs. "You're kidding?" He stops. "Harry, please tell me you're kidding. They're goblins! Goblin warriors. Bloodthirsty warriors! And if this is Plan... what, Plan C? If we send in Sirius and Tonks first, and they get caught then the goblins will know someone is trying to get into Lestrange's vault. Worse: Bellatrix will know. The vault will be under the highest security possible. For goblins that means they'll put their full forces in front of Lestrange's vault lest their security be questioned. Goblins don't back down from a fight. They're bloodthirsty warriors!" Terry repeats. Harry shrugs. "Oh fuck. You're going to get us killed."
"You knew the risks when you signed up for this."
"Just for legal purposes," Anthony cuts in, "I never formally signed. There's no paperwork or –"
"Then leave!" Harry yells.
"Fuck Harry, calm down. I was kidding. Obviously I really want to fight my way through Gringotts."
"Why is the locket affecting you so much more than usual?" Terry asks. Harry's eyes snap to his.
"It's not."
"Harry." Terry replies firmly.
Harry cricks his neck. Twists it from side to side. He ignores the way Terry and Anthony look between each other. He knows what it looks like. He's not possessed. "He's angry." Harry eventually says. "He arrived at Malfoy Manor a couple of hours ago. He's… angry doesn't encompass the rage he feels."
"So the Harry Horcrux is transferring his rage to you?"
"I'm not being mind-controlled!" Harry snaps. "And stop doing that!"
"Doing what?" Terry asks calmly.
"Looking at each other like… like – like I'm insane. Like I'm possessed. Like you're worried about me. I'm right here!"
"We are worried about you." Terry replies. "You're not acting like yourself – and even if you were, we'd still be worried about you. Because we're friends."
"Friends." Harry spits. "Because we all get along so fucking –"
"Harry just take the locket off!" Anthony loses his patience.
"That won't solve anything. It's not the locket. It's me." Harry hisses.
"No." Terry says firmly. "It's not. So take if off."
"Yeah. If you don't take it off I'm going to take that as proof that Voldemort is mind-controlling you to keep the locket out of enemy possession, so. Hand it over – to Terry. Not me. It's Terry's turn." Anthony says. Terry glares at him, before nodding.
"Please." Terry says, stretching out his hand.
Harry grimaces. The tightens around his neck. It's whispering to him – to the Horcrux inside of him. It's begging. Keep me. Protect me. Love me. Be me. With a quick jerk, Harry pulls the chain over his head and drops the chain into Terry's hand.
Harry inhales sharply. His head stills whirs, the Horcrux's voice is painfully loud and Voldemort's anger is consuming, but it's duller now.
"Thanks." Harry says, embarrassed. He should probably say sorry. Apologise for being a dick. For saying they weren't friends. But they're all passed that point by now. Sorry means nothing – especially when under locket-induced fury.
"Of course." Anthony says easily.
Terry on the other hand, glares at the Slytherin emblem on the locket. Reluctantly he lifts if over his head. The mist falls over his eyes.
