Chapter 22 — Bones and Burials
January brought more than frost.
It brought letters.
The first was from Neville.
Harry,
Something strange is going on at home. Gran won't say anything, but I found her in tears last night over something in Great-Uncle Algie's old trunk. She's scared, Harry. I've never seen her scared. I don't know what it means, but I think it has something to do with my parents.
Can you come?
The second came by special owl—delivered through Dumbledore's office with silent urgency.
From Amelia Bones.
Mr. Potter,
It may interest you to know that the Department has reopened several old investigations into residual Death Eater activity and related magical artifacts. Some of your... prior statements regarding Horcruxes now seem less speculative. We may have a location. Your discretion is requested.
—A. Bones
Harry didn't hesitate. He sent replies to both and met with Tonks and Hermione before dinner.
"Neville first," he said. "He's not imagining things."
Tonks nodded. "We always assumed the Lestranges were the only ones who hurt the Longbottoms. But that was Voldemort's circle. Who says he didn't stash something nearby?"
Hermione looked grave. "If it's a Horcrux..."
"Then it's one step closer to ending him," Harry finished.
They arrived at Longbottom Manor by Portkey three nights later.
The house was vast, cold, and filled with the kind of quiet only old grief creates. Augusta Longbottom met them in the drawing room, her posture regal, her eyes sunken.
"I didn't summon you," she told Harry stiffly.
"You didn't have to," he replied.
To her credit, she said nothing else, only turned sharply on her heel and led them toward the west wing.
"I was clearing Algie's effects," she said. "He passed three winters ago. I found something... odd."
They reached a hidden cellar behind a tapestry of Gifford the Goblin-Biter. Augusta unsealed it with a whispered spell Harry didn't recognize.
Inside was darkness. Dust. And the scent of ash.
A single chest sat on a dais, its corners ringed in silver, its lock shaped like a serpent's fang.
Hermione gasped. "That's not goblin make."
"It's older," Tonks said. "Blood-sealed. Look—runic markers. And this... this reeks of possession magic."
Harry stepped forward. The magic was dormant, but not gone.
"I think Voldemort left something here," he said. "Something meant to keep others away."
He pulled out a silver dagger from his belt—gifted by Bill, ward-breaker and curse-eater—and drew a shallow line across his palm.
The lock hissed open.
Inside was bone.
A small, almost childlike skull, with faint etchings burned into the top.
Hermione stepped back. "That's not human."
"It's a changeling skull," Tonks said. "Used in old rituals to bind identity. Whoever hid this wasn't just storing magic. They were trying to rewrite something."
Harry reached in and touched the skull.
The room pulsed. His scar throbbed—only faintly, but unmistakably.
It wasn't a Horcrux.
But it had been near one.
Or used to protect one.
"We're close," he murmured. "But this isn't it."
Then, very softly: "He buried the Horcrux nearby."
It took them four hours to find the buried artifact. Underneath an ancient elm, roots curling around a cursed box made of obsidian and bone.
Inside: a ring.
Ugly. Blackened.
The Resurrection Stone.
Harry stared at it for a long time.
In his timeline, Dumbledore had worn it. Fought it. Died from it.
Here, it was unclaimed.
Hermione whispered, "Don't touch it."
"I won't," Harry said.
But something in his voice had changed.
He wrapped it carefully in protective parchment and sealed it within a rune-stamped bag Tonks conjured.
"We destroy it," she said.
"We will," he replied.
But later that night, long after the others had gone to bed, Harry took the ring from its warded case and stared at the symbol carved upon it.
A circle. A line. A triangle.
The Deathly Hallows.
Another path. Another future.
One he had nearly followed to the grave.
They brought the ring to Amelia Bones the next day.
She looked older than he remembered—stressed, sharp-eyed, but grateful.
"We'll analyze it," she said. "I assume you know what this is?"
Harry nodded. "It's part of Voldemort's past. That's all that matters."
Bones didn't question him further. She merely nodded, then said, "You're doing what the Ministry never could. Quietly. Effectively."
He didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
On the way back to Hogwarts, Tonks leaned close and whispered, "You're thinking about the Stone."
He didn't lie. "Yes."
"And?"
"I'm thinking it's a trap. One I almost walked into. Again."
Tonks wrapped her fingers around his. "Then don't walk alone."
Harry turned and met her eyes.
"I won't."
Back at Hogwarts, the world felt normal again.
At least until the letter arrived.
Not from the Ministry.
Not from the Order.
But from Draco Malfoy.
Delivered by a charmed note folded into Harry's Potions essay.
We need to talk.
You were in the dungeons that night.
I saw something I wasn't meant to.
Meet me. Midnight. Owlery.
Come alone.
Harry folded the note, eyes narrowing.
The past was catching up.
Fast