Thank you again for all the reviews! And sorry for the long break in updates; I didn't know where to go from the point I'd reached, but now I do.

Chapter Thirty-Eight—Rumors of Horcruxes

His hunger for vengeance is a terrible hunger.

Tarquinius bobs about under the surface of the magic holding him captive. He keeps longing to break the surface with the jab of a hand. He could. He could force the power to obey him, to turn and flow towards him instead of above. He could do whatever he wanted.

But he must hold himself back, because otherwise his enemy will notice and bind him under a heavier compulsion than before.

It makes Tarquinius so furious when he remembers her venom binding him that he wants to hurtle himself at the surface and wait for her to come when the alarms warn her the magic is broken and squeeze the life out of her with his hands. But he remembers that she's stronger than he is, faster. A snake. A beast. A creature he should have known better than to reach out to in his misguided effort to find Harry Potter allies.

She will win in a physical contest. He must make it a magical one.

Tarquinius paces as best as he can in the limited space of his mind, and snarls to himself, and thinks of the ways he wishes to hurt her.

But while he wants her to suffer and would not be displeased to kill her, her death is not the thing that is driving him most, beating in his veins like a second heart. That thing is the desire for the death of his son.

Theodore. Theodore. I am coming.

"Hello, Mr. Potter."

Shit. Harry was on his way to the Room of Requirement a moment ago, and for once, he didn't bring anyone with him. They're all either already there or lingering behind at dinner in the Great Hall or catching some sleep before Astronomy that night. Harry grimaces and turns around to face Shacklebolt.

Lion is hissing in agitation on his shoulder. "That's the one! The one you wanted to avoid! The evil one who keeps trying to catch up with you!"

Harry touches a hand to his snake's back without looking away from Shacklebolt. The man has come to a halt near the bend of the corridor, as if he thinks not getting too close to Harry will make him feel better about this meeting. "Yes, I know," Harry says, partially to reassure Lion and partially because he's curious about the effect of his Parseltongue on Shacklebolt. "But it looks like I'll have to speak to him."

Shackebolt goes a little grey and starts backwards, but he doesn't actually run. He straightens the shoulders of his robe and clears his throat. "Mr. Potter, will you please speak with me? I've been trying to talk to you for weeks, and I think you'll grant that I've been more than patient."

"I don't know why you've been doing that, and the other Defense professor this year wasn't particularly friendly to me."

"Mr. Potter, you must know I would never—"

"The other thing I know about you is that you were one of Dumbledore's cronies," Harry says, and watches Shacklebolt's startled flinch. "So what do you want to say to me? If it's about something related to Dumbledore, I'm not going to agree with you or listen."

Shacklebolt smooths a fussy hand down his robes. "Mr. Potter," he begins, and stops. He seems to think about it, then clears his throat again. "I simply want you to know that Albus discovered a few things about your family that he wanted to share with you. He didn't get the chance before he was—removed, unfortunately."

"He had years to talk to me. He could have shared them at any time."

"He—did not feel you were old enough to understand."

Harry stares at him and waits. He doesn't want to risk giving this up if there really is something about his family that he should know, but on the other hand, his objection stands. Why didn't Dumbledore just tell him as soon as he found it out?

And he'll be telling what he hears to Severus and the others anyway, so they can help him evaluate it for truthfulness.

Shacklebolt seems to realize that's as much invitation as he's going to get, and clears his throat. "Ah, yes. Mr. Potter, have you ever heard of family Gifts? Certain magic that runs in someone's family and is—"

"Yes, I've heard of them."

"Oh, um. Good. That makes this easier." Shacklebolt doesn't sound as if he thinks it does. "Some of the Gifts have been lost, or at least any knowledge of them has. Albus discovered what he thinks is the Potter family Gift."

"I'm sorry, are you pausing for dramatic effect? Or because you want to ambush me after all and you're waiting to give your allies time to get here?" Harry puts a hand on his wand without any subtlety.

"I'm sorry," Shacklebolt says, frowning. "It was just to gather my wits. The Potter family Gift is a connection to Death."

"What? We die young, that sort of thing? I wouldn't be surprised." Although Harry doesn't actually know what age his grandparents died at.

An iron loneliness fills him when he thinks that. He has no real connection to anyone in his family beyond the stories people have told him about his parents. Maybe it would be good to know more about his grandparents. Even their names would be something.

But he reminds himself that he can't trust anything Shacklebolt says, or Dumbledore through him, and just stares at the man.

"No," Shacklebolt says. "Um. One of your ancestors was Ignotus Peverell."

Harry squints, remembering something about a fairy tale in a book he read a few summers ago. "One of the Three Brothers? The one who hid from Death? I thought that was just a fairy tale."

"To most people, yes. But the Potters have a powerful connection to Death. Albus wasn't sure exactly what the Gift was—"

"Of course not."

"But he thought it might be connected to soul magic." Shacklebolt looks as if he's trying hard to avoid arguing with Harry about Dumbledore. "I assume that has some sort of relevance to you?"

Harry swallows and goes cold. Yes, it has some sort of relevance. But he isn't about to tell Shacklebolt that. He shudders just to imagine what he might do with the information. He forces himself to shrug. "I don't know."

"How can you not know? If your Gift has manifested—"

"The only Gift that has is Parseltongue. And I don't think you would argue that the Potters were Gifted with that."

"No one in your family line ever has been."

"I don't know that for sure," Harry snaps, deciding that he can use Shacklebolt's dislike of Parseltongue to recover from maybe showing too much reaction to the thought of soul magic. "I don't even know my grandparents' names or how old they were when they died! If they were nice people! Maybe they were running around being Parselmouths the way Salazar Slytherin was! It's not like I would know."

Shacklebolt's eyes widen, and he stares at Harry as if seeing him for the first time. Harry stares back, unflinching. Yeah, you didn't really think about what it was like for me to grow up as an orphan with no family left, did you?

"Fleamont and Euphemia," Shacklebolt whispers.

"What?"

"Your grandparents. James's parents." Shacklebolt clears his throat. "Their names were Fleamont and Euphemia. I met them a time or two in the course of duty during the war. Nice people."

Harry tucks the names carefully into his mind and nods to Shacklebolt. "Thank you for telling me."

He wants to ask other things, like why his grandfather had such a ridiculous name and what his grandmother's family was. But he doesn't want to give Shacklebolt too much time or too much of a chance to get a hold on him. Honestly, he's probably spent too much time with the man already. So he gives another brisk nod and turns away to walk down the corridor.

"Wait!"

"What?"

"Can you tell me what you think of soul magic? If you think that the Potter family Gift had something to do with it?"

"No," Harry says, and then whisks around the corner and through a secret passage that the twins showed him last year. Shacklebolt walks right past the entrance to the passage, and stands there, from the sound, for a long moment before departing with a sigh.

Harry leans on the wall in the dark and closes his eyes.

"Are you all right? What did the man say? Something that hurt you?" Lion flaps his wings and creates a little breeze that stirs Harry's hair.

"No, not something that hurt me," Harry murmurs, when he's sure that Shacklebolt isn't standing outside anymore and won't hear the soft hisses of Parseltongue. "Just something that I have to think about and didn't expect to hear from him."

"Humans are strange."

Harry manages a strained smile as he stands. "Yeah, we really are."

Severus stares down at the book in his hands. It trembles with the fine tremors of his arms. He makes them stop shaking with a monumental effort.

He doesn't know why Harry talking about his conversation with Shacklebolt suggested this to him. Severus read the book years ago, and didn't get rid of it only because of his immense practicality that won't let him discard any knowledge. If he didn't have that, he would have cast the evil-smelling tome into the rubbish without a care.

Not actually evil-smelling. It is your imagination that it reeks.

Well, the information inside it certainly does. But if it will help him figure out the connection between Harry and Voldemort, Severus will read it a hundred times.

He swallows and steps back from the book, flipping a few more pages. No, it isn't his imagination that the book does not describe Horcrux containers in any detail. It only calls them "containers" and warns against using something made of parchment or anything else fragile that might be damaged by the elements, since such an object would probably never weather the ritual that created a Horcrux in the first place.

It says nothing about using a living being for one. It also does not say that a living being becoming a Horcrux container is impossible.

Severus closes his eyes for long moments and stands there, thinking about what he will have to tell Harry.

But he cannot delay it. Harry already knows that he holds a piece of Voldemort's soul. This news will distress him, but not surprise him so much that Severus has a reason to hide it.

We will find some way to get it out of him, Severus thinks, and turns and leaves the room, trying to forget that the book does not even describe how to destroy an ordinary Horcrux, let alone remove one from a living being.

Harry sits still for a long time after Severus tells him about Horcruxes and what he learned. His hands flex in his lap, but he can't make himself hold onto anything. He'd like to pet Lion, but he can't reach up. He'd like to reach out and give Severus a hug—Severus looks as if he might welcome that, too—but he can't do it.

Severus looks at him quietly. They're in his office, and Harry is hunched over on the chair where he usually sits to do homework. He opens his mouth, but no words emerge, any more than his hands can move.

It's Lion's frantic hissing that brings Harry back to a sense of himself. His snake is practically beating Harry about the head with his wings and sticking his tongue into Harry's ear. "What has happened? What have you done? What have you heard?"

Harry takes a deep breath, and pushes away the choking sensation that makes him feel as if his chest is full of smoke. He'll get past this. He'll get past it like he got past knowing that he had a soul connection to Voldemort in the first place, and knowing that Dumbledore had betrayed him, and losing Chaos. He always survives.

Sometimes he wonders—

But he cuts that thought off. Even if sometimes he might think that it would be better if he didn't survive, he owes it to too many other people to live.

Quietly, Harry explains Horcruxes as well as he can in Parseltongue. Lion goes still as he listens, except for a little tremble that turns into swaying back and forth as Harry gets to the end of the explanation.

"But he put it in you. So he can take it out."

Harry snorts a little, not sure if he's comforted by the simple worldview of a snake or not in this case, but at least he feels less choked than he did. "But it's one of the things keeping him alive. So he wouldn't want to destroy it."

That realization seems to slam into him like a dragon's fire. He's keeping Voldemort alive. So sooner or later, unless they can figure out some way to remove the Horcrux, he'll have to die, no matter how anyone else feels about it.

Severus seems to have read his thoughts, although Harry didn't feel any brush of Legilimency from him. He narrows his eyes. "You are not to think that you can simply kill yourself and solve the problem," he says harshly. "I will tether you to me with a charm and accompany you everywhere for the next five years if that is what it takes to disabuse you of the notion."

Harry tries to smile, but it falters, and Severus takes a long step towards him. "What are you thinking?" Severus asks, his voice falling into the silence between them like a puff of ash.

Harry takes a deep breath and says it. "If the only way that we can kill Voldemort is to kill me, or, I don't know, feed me a potion so that I go painlessly to sleep—would you brew that for me?"

"You are not dying."

"But you have to want to defeat Voldemort more than you care about keeping me alive—"

"I do not."

Harry stares at Severus. Severus looks back, impatient, his hands on his hips, and then taking a long, deep breath and closing his eyes to shake his head.

"I thought you would understand by now," Severus breathes into the silence that seems to ring between them like a dropped Galleon. "Of course I care more about you than about the war. Of course I care more about you than defeating Voldemort."

Harry's tongue is thick in his mouth. He reaches for words, and they slide away. Not even the constant, low hissing of Lion on his shoulder makes it easier for him to speak. "I—I thought…"

"You thought?" Severus's voice is as sharp as if the years between them have fallen away and he's Harry's hated Potions professor again.

Strangely, that makes it easier for Harry to speak. "I thought that you would—I mean, the war's a lot bigger than me. Voldemort will kill everyone he can if he isn't stopped." He thinks about the Speakers' insistence that Voldemort wants to rule over a world of corpses. "If it comes to a sacrifice that can be made to stop the war—"

"Would you agree to me sacrificing my life? Or one of your friends?"

"Of course not! But you know very well it's different, none of you is carrying around a piece of his actual soul inside you—"

"It is different," Severus agrees, although a strange expression has crossed his face, as if he were about to argue. "I will not deny that. But the blind sacrifice of your future is not necessarily something that will work, either. We do not know if other Horcruxes exist, how many he made, or where they are. If you died and there was no one left to oppose him, no one who had the courage or the ability to gather people around them, then what benefit would your death offer?"

Harry breathes in and out and nods slowly again. Severus makes sense. And it does help his desire to do something, to make sure that the threat of Voldemort is ended one way or another.

The deaths will be your fault.

The words echo and bounce and rattle around in his head, but they seem less urgent than they did a few hours ago before he and Severus started talking. Harry leans forwards. "The diary in second year was probably a Horcrux."

"I do not see what else it could be," Severus agrees coolly. "I also think that we do not know enough about Voldemort to know where he might have hidden the others, yet."

"Or what objects he chose?"

Severus shakes his head slowly, meditatively, and Harry sits up. "You have some idea!"

"A suspicion," Severus corrects him instantly. "Voldemort is the last of Slytherin's line, and I do remember hearing a rumor when I was a student that any artifacts associated with Slytherin's blood should be brought at once to a certain seventh-year. When that seventh-year finished school and a new year began, there was a new name. It was also rumored that they would pay handsomely for the artifact, but it was an open secret they were connected to the Death Eaters and would hardly be keeping such a thing for, ah, private collecting."

"All right," Harry says, a new kind of adrenaline surging through him. "Great. So where are these artifacts?"

Severus sighs. "Most of them are thought lost to history. Salazar Slytherin left the school, as you know, unlike the other Founders, who died here. He took the artifacts that were most important to him with him, or at least the legends claim that. Where they are now…" Severus spreads his hands. "Who knows?"

Harry slumps back against his chair, and rearranges himself a second later so that he won't crush Lion's tail. "It can't be easy."

"No, of course not."

"But I suppose it's easier than finding a way to die that wouldn't upset you."

Severus leans forwards and smiles a little. It's not a nice smile, in ways that don't recall the Potions professor of Harry's past, either. "Do I need to find a way to use that tethering charm after all?"

Harry scowls at him. "No. I won't kill myself."

"Thank you."

Harry can't even sort out all the harmonics in that one word, the sarcasm and the things that aren't sarcasm, so he just needs. "I suppose I should talk to the Speakers. They might have someone who would know a way to track Horcruxes, given that one of them identified a piece of soul in me in the first place."

"Yes, but wait a bit," Severus murmurs. "Give the revelation time to settle. Give yourself time to get used to it. Then I would suggest telling some of your friends."

"Only some?"

"You would want to make sure that they are not susceptible to pressure of the sort that you are trying to protect certain Slytherins against. And possibly that they are good at Occlumency, and not prone to blurting out secrets in front of the wrong people."

Harry eyes him. "You're thinking of Gryffindors when you talk about the last part."

"Did I say so?"

"You didn't need to," Harry mutters, but he bends forwards a little, feeling the relief gush through him as the burden of carrying this alone drops from his shoulders. "Thank you."

Severus touches his shoulder for a moment with a hand that holds steady. "Why don't you go talk to your friends? About something other than this. Tell them, if they sense something is wrong and ask, that you'll explain it to them, but not right now."

Harry nods, stands up, leans sideways to hug Severus, and then takes off out of the room before Severus can say anything.

Severus closes his eyes and savors the fleeting warmth of that embrace for a long moment before he shakes his head and turns to one of the books on Dark Arts that he removed from the Restricted Section.

The book on Horcruxes had no information on how to destroy them or remove the shard of soul from a living one. Well, Severus will look until he finds the answer.

And if it takes him weeks, months, years, that is the way things shall be.