Tuesday, 29th August

Severus strode quickly and silently through the grounds of Slytherin Manor, clutching his robes tightly.

He'd expected this call - had been expecting it since yesterday morning when he'd almost spat his coffee all over the most recent edition of the Daily Prophet. Part of him had considered murdering Rita Skeeter for ensuring his own inevitable, long, and pain-filled death. It wasn't as if the woman didn't have any other enemies, after all, and as he said, he'd soon be dead anyway so what difference would it make even if he did get caught?

Instead, he'd taken several long, deep breaths and had prepared himself for a particularly scathing letter. The summoning, when it came, had not been to the Dark Lord, but to Order headquarters. Dumbledore had given him a look when he'd stepped through the fireplace and he'd given a nearly imperceptible shake of his head in return. The Dark Lord hadn't called him - not yet.

So he'd sat there and waited and listened to the inane ramblings of Sirius bloody Black and waited some more and listened to the surprisingly intelligent words of Potter and waited even longer and forced himself not to murder Mundungus Fletcher for having been the rat to sell Potter out in the first place because, really, if he wasn't going to brutally torture and maim Skeeter, he should at least be allowed to brutally torture and maim this pathetic excuse of a creature, but he'd held himself back with commendable self-restraint and waited once more and waited again and then, most surprisingly, continued to wait until-

Until nightfall. There had been no call. Not a single letter or missive or cursed artefact from the Dark Lord all day. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he'd forgotten about him. Maybe he'd actually get away with this and not die a long, pain-filled death and-

The owl had appeared late the next morning just as he was finishing his breakfast, "requesting" a meeting at his "earliest convenience" with one "Lord Thomas Slytherin".

Well then.

At least the man had been kind enough to grant him one last meal - and putting the words "kind" and "Lord Voldemort" in the same sentence had never been on his exhaustive list of life's possibilities before.

So now, here he was, walking to his doom. At least he'd been able to send an owl of his own to Dumbledore, warning him about the Dark Lord's knowledge of Potter's reappearance - because of course that's what this "meeting" was about, why the bloody hell else would he have been summoned today?! - and also rather passive-aggressively reminding the old man where his will was stored and telling him not to bother trying to track down his body... If he was lucky enough to even be left his body.

Approaching the manor, he was surprised to see the majestic oak doors swing open as he reached them and a muggle, of all things, to come ambling out.

A muggle.

In the Dark Lord's house.

A… muggle.

Still alive.

A muggle!

The old man squinted at him for a moment before realisation seemed to dawn on his weathered face. "Ah. You're that… Snape lad, ain't ya?"

It had been a long, long time since anyone had called him a lad, but Severus nodded all the same. "And you are…?"

"Frank Bryce" he replied, his accent thick but clear, "I take care of things 'round here - the garden and fences and whatnot. Tom's been good to me. Can't say he's the easiest bloke to work for, but… well, I ain't complainin'. Not after he fixed my leg".

There were… so many things to unpack in that sentence. The Dark Lord had hired a muggle as his groundskeeper?! The Dark Lord allowed a muggle to call him 'Tom'?! Tom as in Lord Thomas Slytherin? The muggle had nicknamed him?!

"You are one of… his lot, aren't ya?"

The man, Bryce, was now giving him a rather suspicious look.

"... His lot?"

"Yeah, you know, with the whole…" He waved his hands around in what Severus could only assume was a facsimile of spell casting. "... magic… thing".

Magic thing?! Not only had the Dark Lord hired this muggle, fixed his leg, and apparently gained his friendship, but he'd broken the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy for him too?! Then again, Severus mused, in the grand scheme of his other, more murderous crimes, that was probably the most harmless thing the Dark Lord had ever done.

"Yes" he replied, belatedly, "I am one of… his lot".

"Aye. Thought so. You've got the same funny clothes as 'im". Bryce briefly glanced down at his plain black robes before stepping out onto the stone entrance, leaving the door open behind him. "Well then, I won't keep you. Tom's a prickly lad on the best of days, but right now… Well. Whatever it is you've done, laddie, I do not envy you".

And with that pleasant little warning, the muggle ambled off around the side of the manor.

Taking a deep breath and now feeling thoroughly unsettled, Severus stepped into the magnificent marble hall.

The letter asking - ordering - him there had been brief and to the point, but at least the Dark Lord had deigned himself to give him directions through the large house to the study. His shoes made an almost imperceptible sound as they echoed off the marble floor, being met with nothing but silence as he continued deeper into the manor.

The house was elegant, opulent even, but not unnecessarily so. Classy, he'd have said if he weren't walking to his death. The grand staircase loomed at the end of the hall, bathed in the soft light of crystal chandeliers hanging high above. Snape took the steps two at a time - what was the point in delaying the inevitable? - and a few moments later, he reached the correct door.

Mentally reinforcing his Occlumency barriers, he reached up and knocked.

"Come in".

A familiar chill ran down his spine as he opened the door, stepped through, and closed it quietly behind him. He didn't believe that Mr Bryce would return, but he'd rather not have the muggle witness his murder if he could help it.

"Good afternoon, Severus".

The Dark Lord was sitting in one of two armchairs placed at an angle to each other in front of a smouldering fireplace. August had been kind to them this year and it was still an acceptable temperature outside, but there was a bite in the air that suggested crisp days ahead.

"Good afternoon, my lord" he replied dutifully, hovering somewhat awkwardly near the door.

He still wasn't entirely sure how to address this new and improved version of the nightmare from his memories. His previous form would have demanded Snape kneel and kiss his robes in greeting - this form simply gestured at the chair opposite him which the potions master slowly, cautiously sat down in.

"Why didn't you tell me about Harry Potter, Severus?"

Straight to business then. He swallowed thickly, expertly masking his fear but unable to block out all of it. He'd known this moment would come and he had prepared for it - whether or not his preparations would be effective or futile, he had yet to see. Tom's eyes narrowed. He may have had immeasurably more patience than his previous self did, but he was still by no means a patient man.

"I did not know he was back, my lord" Snape said, his voice steady despite the rise of panic inside him, "I had heard rumours, of course, but there have been rumours for years! I had no reason to suspect that these ones were true, or that-"

"Don't lie to me".

The man's smile was thin, sharp, and infinitely more unsettling than it should have been, but his voice was calm, pleasant.

"I know that you know Harry Potter has returned, and I also know that you know I know you know" the Dark Lord continued, still smiling blandly, "Do you know how I know that, Severus?"

"... No, my lord".

"I know that you know because I had a very intriguing conversation with Lady Malfoy a few days ago. Apparently, she simply… bumped into the boy while he was out shopping with Lord Black for his school robes". There was an edge to his voice now, but that odd glint of amusement remained in his dark gaze. "Now, tell me something, Severus. If Harry Potter is shopping for school robes, then wouldn't you agree that Albus Dumbledore must be aware of his existence? I mean, after all, if the boy plans to attend Hogwarts this year, then surely he would've had to receive the good Headmaster's permission, yes?"

"... Yes, my lord, I suppose he would".

"Which leaves me with two distinct possibilities, my friend. Either Albus Dumbledore did not inform you of the boy's return; therefore showcasing just how little trust he has in you… or else he did inform you, and you simply failed to inform me".

There was nothing "simple" about it. Either Severus damned himself as a useless spy or he damned himself as a liar - and the Dark Lord had need for neither.

"I failed to inform you, my lord" he eventually admitted, deciding that, if he was about to be murdered, then at the very least he'd like to die a… relatively honest man.

"Yes. I thought as much". As quick as a flash, the Dark Lord's wand was in his hand. "Crucio!"

Severus flinched, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for the familiar pain, the searing white-hot knives under his skin, the wretched agony that had once been a constant in his life, but-

But it didn't come.

Instead, he heard a loud crash, a heavy sigh, and a quiet "Tergeo".

Slowly opening his eyes, he watched, terrified and confused, as the earth on the floor began to sweep itself up, the shattered vase the plant had once resided in lying in pieces around it.

"Randolph has gifted me some anger management books, Severus" the Dark Lord said, casually, as though he were discussing the fucking weather, "I have thus far found them to be rather… acceptable".

What the fuck what the fuck what the-

"... Very good, my lord".

He watched, dazed, as the last of the dirt was swept up and placed back inside the now-repaired vase, with the vase itself being levitated back to the side table it had previously been perched on.

"One must learn to manage one's emotions, my friend. A burst of violence solves nothing - but breaking a vase? Well, that's a far more satisfying and far less harmful outlet, don't you think?"

Severus opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He was too stunned to form any coherent response to the bizarre situation he found himself in. It was as if the world had shifted beneath him, and he was still struggling to catch up.

"I gave you an entire week to bring me the information of Potter's reappearance, Severus. Why did you not tell me?"

He was still staring at the vase. It was unusual, he thought, to put a plant in such a thing. A flower, he could understand - although seeing a flower in the Dark Lord's personal study would perhaps be a step too far for his broken mind to handle - but a plant?

"Severus".

Who would put a plant in a decorative vase? Who even watered it? Did- Did he water it?! Or was this yet another of the muggle's duties?

"... I apologise, my lord" he managed to say, tearing his eyes away from the table, "It was not my intention to deceive you or- or to lie to you".

"And yet still, you did". He could feel the weight of Slytherin's gaze on him, assessing, judging, curious, even. "I distinctly remember you making an Unbreakable Vow. You swore to keep me informed of any pertinent information. Harry Potter alive and well is pertinent information, Severus!"

And there was the furious, inhuman spark of his previous self. Snape had started to wonder if he'd ever see it again, and in a weird, twisted way, he almost felt relieved at the familiarity of such anger.

"Why didn't you tell me about the boy?"

Severus… hesitated. He could feel the weight of the Unbreakable Vow he had taken pressing down on him, suffocating him - he could feel the weight of both Unbreakable Vows.

"Yours was… not the first Vow I made, my lord" he started, quietly, keeping his gaze lowered, "After your… disappearance, I was… distraught. I told you of- of Lily Evans and between her death and the fall of the Dark, I became… manipulatable, and Albus Dumbledore took advantage of that".

"What did he make you promise?"

The Dark Lord's voice was silky smooth but low, dangerous, and the man found himself automatically tensing up for what came next.

"I… I promised to protect Harry Potter at all costs".

"Crucio!"

The vase shattered. He flinched. The Dark Lord… sighed.

"My apologies, Severus".

With a wave of his wand, the plant was once more back in its rightful place.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!

"So you made an Unbreakable Vow to defend the child who caused my downfall" he said slowly, "And that is why you did inform me of his return?"

"... Yes".

"Severus".

"I took a Vow to protect him, my lord" he admitted, his throat tight, "But, more than that, I... have met the boy, have spoken to him firsthand and I… I like him".

For a moment, there was silence between them. The Dark Lord's eyes had widened slightly, an almost imperceptible flicker of surprise crossing his face. The potions master knew that this was something he had never expected to hear; that he, Severus Snape, of all people, actually enjoyed the company of another human being - and a bloody Potter at that!

"... I see" the man eventually replied, "You find him… interesting?"

"Yes, my lord".

"Why? No, don't answer that. Show me. Show me your memories of him!"

Severus was so startled by the fact the man had actually asked - or, well, demanded - rather than taking his memories for himself, that he automatically agreed. The Dark Lord looked… manic; but it wasn't the same sort of mania that his previous form had shown. That had been a result of insanity, but this… this was more like the frenzy of a young child on Christmas morning.

"Yes, my lord".

That dark wand spun around to aim at him, and he felt his heart stutter, briefly wondering if the man was going to Crucio him after all before-

"Legilimens".

An indeterminable amount of time later, Severus came back to himself. He was half-slumped over in the armchair so he quickly straightened up, blinking rapidly to shake the last of the memories from his sight.

The Dark Lord was looking… pensieve. He had exited his mind far more gently than he'd ever had before, showing a level of consideration for his well-being that was… well… rather frightening, if Severus was being honest. Relieving, yes, of course, but… disturbing, nonetheless. He continued to watch the man for another few minutes, observing his expressions carefully as they shifted from surprise and disbelief to amusement and curiosity and then to something akin to satisfaction.

"Well" the Dark Lord said at last, "I can certainly see why you find him so… intriguing".

He reholstered his wand - Severus let out a silent sigh of relief - before leaning back in his armchair, his long fingers steepled in front of his lips as if savouring the taste of what he had just learned. Snape had shown him everything, every single memory he had of the boy - carefully curated to hide some of the Order's more sensitive plans of course - and he knew that the Dark Lord's mind was currently running at a hundred miles an hour, no doubt trying to reconcile the pure and perfect hero that he'd expected with the sharp and snarky brat he'd been presented with.

"... I cannot imagine that Albus Dumbledore is very happy with him".

"No, my lord".

"Good". The man's smile was sharp, razor-edged. "It serves him right to have something not go his way for once… So Harry Potter taught himself magic… and with the help of a Rowle, no less".

"I do not believe that this boy has had any contact with Thorfinn, my lord" Severus said carefully, "From what I know of their family, Thorfinn's sister was disinherited for marrying a muggle. The boy who told Potter he was a wizard might not necessarily be… one of our own".

The Dark Lord waved a dismissive hand. "It is of no matter. The Rowles are a Dark family and blood always wins out - Thorfinn's nephew is just as inclined to the Dark Arts as he is himself, I am sure of it… Does Dumbledore know of this?"

"Of Potter's choice of friends? No, my lord, not that I'm aware of. I believe the boy only told me because… well…" He shifted somewhat uncomfortably in his seat, and the younger man's smile widened.

"Because like calls to like, perhaps?" he suggested mildly, "You always were more finely attuned to Dark Magic than most, Severus. You cannot deny that the boy is Dark himself".

"Potter is… capable of the Arts, my lord, of that I'm certain" he acknowledged, "But I personally believe that it stems from learning magic from unbiased sources rather than a conscious choice to use Dark Magic".

"He hasn't yet been poisoned by the Ministry's anti-Dark rhetoric, you mean" he corrected, "But now that he's under the influence of Albus Dumbledore…"

"I do not believe that it'll change much, my lord" Severus confessed, "The boy is… wary around Albus - wary around most people, in fact. He's very distrustful, for his age, and self-sufficient too".

"And yet Dumbledore still puts blind faith in him, believing that he's the key to all of the Dark's undoing". The man scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking the most normal, the most human, that Snape had ever seen. "A Slytherin, then?"

"Unfortunately".

Severus froze. He hadn't meant to say that. He'd meant to say "yes, my lord" and "no, my lord" and "three bags full, my lord". But the man's youthful appearance and conversational manner and almost teenage-like attitude had put him temporarily at ease without him realising, and now he really was going to die because there was no way in Salazar's name that-

The Dark Lord laughed.

The Dark Lord just… fucking laughed!

And it was like nothing Severus had ever heard before. It wasn't a cruel, maniacal cackle, nor was it the dry, sardonic humour of someone truly above it all. No, it was… lighter than that. Human. Almost, dare he say it, appealing.

"Unfortunately" the man echoed, his grin both sharp and genuine, "Oh, Severus, that is rich. The great Harry Potter, Savior of the Light, in Slytherin? It truly pains you, doesn't it?"

Snape tensed, unsure if his supposed amusement would twist into something darker, but to his never-ending shock of the day, the Dark Lord simply tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he continued.

"Based on your memories, it shouldn't be all that surprising, really. He's certainly resourceful, intelligent, cunning… You were always a good judge of character, Severus, but perhaps the Sorting Hat made a mistake. Perhaps you should have been the Head of Gryffindor House instead".

Snape's lips pressed into a tight line. He wasn't certain if this was meant to be a jest or an insult, but he wasn't going to take the bait either way.

"And yet" the Dark Lord continued, now resting his chin on his interlocked fingers, "You're attached to him. You actually like the boy, despite who he is and what he represents… You find him… fascinating".

Not as much as you do. He only just barely managed to bite his tongue in time.

"I find him tolerable, my lord" he said stiffly, though the correction felt hollow, "He is intelligent, as you have said, and sharp too, but he is also brash and manipulative and infuriating!"

"And yet you defend him". Slytherin leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me something, my friend. Is it just the Vow that binds you? Or is there something more?"

The question lingered heavily in the air. Snape, ever the practised Occlumens, schooled his features into impassivity. His mind was another matter entirely - a maelstrom of fragmented memories; Lily's laughter, Harry's startlingly familiar green eyes, the boy's unrelenting spirit. But he buried it all deep, cloaking it in layers of careful detachment.

"My lord, I serve you" he said finally, evenly, "My actions are dictated by my loyalty and my oaths, nothing more".

"Hmm". The Dark Lord studied him intently, the firelight flickering in his dark eyes. "You serve me, yes, but you also serve Dumbledore - and now, it would seem, Harry Potter too. Tell me, Severus, how do you reconcile such… divided loyalties?"

It was a dangerous question. One that could shatter the fragile truce in this room. Snape chose his words with care.

"I reconcile them by focusing on our ultimate goals. My service to you has never wavered when you have needed me, my lord".

The man's gaze remained locked on him, unblinking, as if he could see through the layers of half-truths and Occlumency shields. Then, unexpectedly, the tension broke as the Dark Lord leaned back in his armchair with an exaggerated sigh.

"You are exhausting, Severus" he declared, though his tone was more amused than accusatory, "Still, I must admit you've been useful, if… cagey at times. How does the search for the locket go?"

The potions master blinked, startled by the sudden change in topic.

"It goes… as expected, my lord" he said slowly, "Dumbledore has ordered Potter to remain at the Order headquarters for now to ensure his safety. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin have since moved in with him which has diminished the time I can search for the locket without detection greatly. However, once the boy goes to Hogwarts and Black and Lupin return to their own house, I will have free reign of the property once more".

"And the house-elf? He cannot find it for you?"

"Although there's no love lost between Kreacher and Sirius Black, my lord, the elf has shown a rather… fierce loyalty to the boy himself".

"I'm not surprised. Based on what I've heard, Lord Black turned his back on all things Dark the very second he could. Harry Potter, on the other hand…"

Embraced the Arts without a shred of prejudice, Severus silently finished, something that any member of the Black household would - should - find deliciously appealing.

"Yes, my lord. Consequently, I fear that asking the elf to find the locket for me would make its way back to Potter, and I do not wish for him to start questioning my motives".

"A wise decision, my friend". The Dark Lord had stippled his fingers together and was once more staring into the dying embers of the fire. "Return to the house as soon as you are able. I want that locket in my possession before the year's end".

"Yes, my lord".

"And as for Harry Potter…"

Severus felt his heart rate pick up. He hadn't been lying when he said he truly liked the boy - not that he'd ever tell him that, of course - and, while he was being honest with himself, then he had to admit that even without the threat of the Vow hanging over his head to protect Harry Potter, he'd more than likely try to protect him anyway.

"He's certainly… unexpected" the Dark Lord continued quietly, as though talking to himself, "But that level of power at his age… and the darkness radiating off of him… he is far more like you, Severus, than I could have ever anticipated… He is far more like both of us than I could have ever anticipated…"

His voice trailed off, those dark eyes burning into the fireplace and Snape felt his stomach give a traitorous lurch. If the man was saying what he thought he was…

"Perhaps… but no, that would be madness… and yet… it was madness before for me to… so maybe… yes… maybe indeed…"

"My- My lord?" he asked cautiously, and that intense gaze immediately snapped to his.

"I want you to keep an eye on the boy, Severus. As his professor, this shouldn't pose too much of a bother, and as his future Head of House…" That smile was back; the one that was far too sharp to ever be mistaken for a sign of happiness. "Well. I'm sure keeping me informed of Potter's… shall we say, quirks? should be a simple affair for someone such as yourself".

"Yes, my lord" he agreed, because, well, what else could he do? At the very least this meant he didn't want him to bring the boy here, or even find some way of killing him. Perhaps the Dark Lord truly had changed and no longer wanted to murder the child - or was he simply biding his time?

"Good. Then you may go". He turned back to the fireplace. "Keep an eye on Potter, find me that locket, and, as usual, tell nothing of your orders to anyone".

Bowing his head, Snape quickly stood and made his way back to the door.

"Oh, and Severus?"

He froze, his fingers hovering over the ornate handle. "Yes, my lord?"

"If you fail to inform me of such pertinent information again, then I shall no longer have any need for that vase… Do I make myself clear?"

He swallowed hard. "Perfectly, my lord".

"Excellent. That is all".

Severus opened the door and slipped out, his mind racing as he descended the grand staircase. The meeting had not gone as he'd feared, nor as he'd expected. The Dark Lord's newfound patience and unsettling curiosity about Potter left him with more questions than answers - but for now, though, he had survived.

And in the shadowed halls of Slytherin Manor, playing both sides against each other, keeping his true allegiances hidden, survival was always a victory.

Thursday, 31st August

Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, his fingers absently running over the crinkled edges of yesterday's Daily Prophet. The front page stared up at him with a thick black headline and a photograph of a smiling yet rather flustered-looking Cornelius Fudge. He scanned the article.

… the passing of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two to ensure that, in the event of the current Headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person and…

It was official. Dolores Umbridge was going to be his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and there was absolutely nothing any of them could do to stop her.

Dolores Umbridge, who was responsible for putting forward many of today's anti-creature laws. Dolores Umbridge, who was responsible for making it all but illegal for Remus to find a job or purchase basic groceries. Dolores Umbridge, who was responsible for the Minister of Magic believing that Dumbledore had taken Harry out of his so-called special training to lead a revolution against the Ministery, Umbridge herself, and their new BFF Lord Slytherin.

Before Harry could dwell further on the unsettling implications, a sharp pop interrupted his thoughts.

"Kreacher" he said, startled.

The ancient house-elf stood at the foot of the bed, his bulbous eyes gleaming with their usual mix of defiance and weariness - suspicious to the last even of Harry, who was very clearly his favourite, much to Sirius's disgust. But at least now, the house-elf looked some bit respectable as gone were the filthy rags he typically wore and in their place was a neatly sewn outfit that fit him perfectly, complete with silver buttons and the family crest stitched on over his heart.

Harry blinked. "You made that?"

Kreacher's chest puffed up, though he gave a sniff as if to suggest the question was beneath him.

"The young Master provided the cloth" he croaked, his voice gravelly yet proud, "Proper attire for a house-elf of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Kreacher will not disgrace the family name any longer by wearing filth!"

Harry held back a smile. For all of the house-elf's grumbling about what remained of the Black family, he still clung to their name fiercely. He'd known, of course, that he couldn't give Kreacher any clothing without setting him free, and that to someone as proud as he was, having served the Black family for generations, offering him clothing even without the intention of freeing him would be seen as the highest form of insult.

There were ways around that, however, and before he'd left Madam Malkin's last week, he'd asked for two rolls of cotton fabric - one in black, naturally, and one in Slytherin green, of course. No matter how much Sirius hated the house-elf, he did cook them three meals a day and kept Grimmauld Place as clean as he was able to, and he deserved far more than poorly-fitting rags to wear as payment.

Harry himself knew exactly how that felt.

"It suits you" he said sincerely, "I'm impressed".

Kreacher's ears twitched. Was that a flicker of gratitude in his eyes?

"The young Master is foolishly kind" the elf muttered, though his tone lacked its usual venom. Then, with a surprising solemnity, Kreacher reached into a small pocket and produced a strange, oval, tarnished object made of heavy gold with a serpentine 'S' inlaid with green jewels on the front. He held it out for him to take and, bemused, Harry did so, startled by the sudden warmth he felt course through his fingers, hands, arms, entire body as a result.

"Kreacher…" His voice briefly faltered. This was a Dark artefact; of that, he was absolutely certain. "Kreacher, why are you giving me this?"

The house-elf hesitated, his gnarled fingers tightening around the chain for a moment before releasing it entirely into Harry's palm.

"It is custom for the heir of the dukedom to inherit its treasures and a family heirloom. But Master Sirius…" Kreacher's lips curled in disdain, his voice heavy with an old, bitter pride. "He does not honour the old ways. An idiot, my nasty Master is. A disgrace to our sacred traditions! Oh, the shame he brings upon his mother's house-"

Harry stayed silent, knowing better by now than to interrupt when he was in full flow.

"So" Kreacher continued a moment later, his tone softening, "Kreacher gives this to the young Master instead. It belonged to… to Master Regulus and Kreacher promised… Kreacher promised he would destroy it".

"Destroy it?" Harry exclaimed, his fingers unconsciously tightening around the locket, "What? No! Why?!"

"Master Regulus was… No. No no no!" To the boy's horror, the elf's large eyes started welling up with tears.

"What? Hey, no, Kreacher, it's alright! It's alright, I promise, you don't have to tell me! We don't have to- to talk about Regulus or the locket or anything if you don't want to, alright?"

The elf sniffled loudly and slowly nodded.

"The young Master is a good Master… Kreacher does not want to speak of- of that day, but Kreacher promised to destroy the locket for Master Regulus and Kreacher can't! It is powerful. Evil! But… But Kreacher believes that the young Master is powerful too. The young Master has to be to have taken down my Mistress's portrait the way he did".

"So you want me to destroy it for you".

"Yes. Oh, yes, young Master, please, Kreacher does, Kreacher does, Kreacher-"

"Alright!" he interrupted quickly before the elf could start up again, "Alright, I will. I'll- I'll destroy it, Kreacher, as soon as I'm able to, alright?"

He could see the relief in Kreacher's eyes as he nodded and stepped back.

"But until that time, the young Master will keep it safe" he said, more so a command than a request.

"I will" Harry promised, all the same, the metal in his hands feeling strangely warm against his skin, and almost… comforting.

As the elf vanished with another pop, he slumped back onto his bed, staring at the locket. It had two tiny clasps on either side which suggested that it could open, but when he tried his best to do so, it refused to budge. There was something almost... magnetic about it, a subtle pull that made him want to hold it close. On impulse, he slipped the chain around his neck.

The warmth spread instantly, calming his nerves and quieting the lingering frustrations from the Daily Prophet. For the first time that week, Harry felt oddly at ease, as though everything - the Ministry's interfering, Dolores Umbridge, starting Hogwarts, everything - would turn out perfectly fine.