A Promise Kept - Chapter 63 - The Power of Three

The Power of Three

He could feel his heart thudding in his chest, his breathing came, but only in short, sharp bursts he couldn’t control.

Peering around the corner, he saw the passing shadow once more, shuddered as a bead of sweat dripped down the length of his spine, but was relieved to see it pass him by a little further away.

Even so, he dared not to move.

He’d heard of the one stalking him, had laughed it off as a joke, just rumours made up by those who’d maybe drank a little too much, allowing their imaginations to get the better of.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He too was drunk, had spent the evening in The Hog’s Head, gambling with some of the others, and was among the last to leave. He bid his farewells and intended to perhaps continue celebrating in Knockturn Alley.

He had some winnings to spend, after all.

His plans had been scuppered as he’d made his way towards the apparation point in Hogsmeade.

He’d felt a sense of unease begin to creep in, was certain he’d heard a teasing whisper on the wind, and before he knew it, the phantom was stood before him, as still as a statue.

It had taken him a moment to find his feet, to flee for all he was worth, across the track in the station, and into the trees where he’d been pursued.

Now, however, and much to his relief, it appeared the phantom had given up chasing him.

He wiped the sweat from his brow as he chuckled.

“Too much whiskey,” he muttered, stumbling backwards against the tree as something thudded into his chest.

With a frown, he looked down to see something protruding from it. Was it a raven or a crow? He was certain, and his swimming vision was not helping.

Even so, he retained the wherewithal to see the pale hand grasping it, and the brilliant green of the eyes of his attacker as the blade was tugged free.

“Joining him was a terrible mistake, Pusey.”

Adrian could not speak a word nor move a muscle as his attacker wiped the knife clean and began walking away, whistling an unfamiliar tune. He could only lament on his short life, the good and bad moments, and wondered if this was truly where it was to end.

As the black flames began to engulf him, he knew it was, and the last thing he saw as the darkness took him, was just another glimpse of those haunting, green eyes that seemed to peer at him from within the shadows surrounding him.

(Break)

“Once more, it is an even tie,” Pius Thicknesse announced irritably, looking towards the fuming Minister Yaxley. “Therefore, the introduction of the Muggleborn Registration Act has failed to reach the required number of votes to be implemented.”

These past weeks, the Minister had done everything he could to get the bill passed. He had pleaded with the members of the Wizengamot, and Sirius did not doubt that he’d been making threats, offering bribes, and resorting to blackmail, but those that opposed the Dark Lord remained steadfast.

The lines truly had been drawn, for the most part.

Those that chose to remain neutral were abstaining from voting, those that opposed the bill were doing so vehemently, and those supporting it were beginning to become desperate having realised that the Wizengamot was no longer their playground.

“We will hold another vote tomorrow!” Minister Yaxley snapped irritably.

He seemed to be aging at an accelerated rate.

The man appeared to be exhausted, paler than usual, and his temper was much shorter.

Sirius suspected he was not endearing himself to his master of late, and that thought alone brought a smirk to his lips.

“Yes, we will!” Thicknesse agreed, and it wasn’t lost on Sirius why they wished to do so.

Tomorrow would be there final chance to pass the bill, and they would need to do something rather drastic to do so, because, come the day after, Harry would be reaching his majority, and the likes of Yaxley, Thicknesse, and the others who followed the Dark Lord knew he might just hold the influence needed to change the tide entirely.

As much a relief as that was, Sirius remained frustrated.

Edward had done all he could to track the Minister’s movements these past weeks, when he wasn’t searching for Snape, but the man had proven to be as paranoid as expected.

He wasn’t seen outside of his own home, and not without a guard, unless he was sequestered away in his office at the Ministry.

Yaxley took no risks that would see him exposed, but soon enough, Sirius was hopeful it would no longer matter.

He disliked relying on Harry for so much when it came to dealing with such things, but this was one of those he was willing to admit that something needed to be done.

He’d grown tired of the constant back and forth between the split factions on the Wizengamot.

The only people they were currently failing, was every witch and wizard in Britain who looked to them for leadership. Instead, they were witnessing only discontent and discord among the lords and ladies.

The Wizengamot had begun to lose credibility with all, and Sirius himself could not blame the public for their disillusion. Still, he held onto hope that things might just change in the coming days.

Something had to.

The war had almost come to a standstill since what had happened at St Mungo’s, well, on the surface at least. Sirius did not doubt that both Harry and Voldemort were busy in their own ways.

He frowned at the thought of his godson.

Harry did not seem to be doing well at all.

He was quieter than usual, more lost in his thoughts as he tried to figure out the puzzle that was the Dark Lord, but Sirius knew it was more than that. Harry was trying to navigate the heartbreak of losing someone he cared deeply for, and as much as it pained him to admit it, there was little Sirius could say or do to help him.

These things took time, and from his own experience, it was not something you truly healed from.

Even now, Sirius thought of the one lost to him, wondered what may have been had things been different, but Marlene McKinnon hadn’t simply been promised to another.

She had been murdered along with the rest of her family.

She and Sirius had only been dating for a short while when it had happened, but even now, he felt the sting of that loss.

He shook his head of his maudlin thoughts as he took his leave of the Wizengamot chambers, knowing he would be back to do it all over again tomorrow.

He just hoped that for one more day, the bill could be rebuffed and hoped even more so that Harry was ready to step in where he was needed, just as much as he was outside of the walls doing his utmost to put an end to Voldemort.

He was needed here too, more than Sirius had ever hoped he would be.

(Break)

Lily watched as she looked around the kitchen, her gaze flitting from the stove to the scrubbed table, and the many chairs beneath it. She imagined that the Blacks would gather here for family meals, though she couldn’t quite envision it being like any other gathering.

“My grandfather used to sit there,” Andromeda spoke, pointing towards the head of the table, “and Orion was to his right with Walburga next to him,” she added with a grimace.

Sirius’s parents.

A few times a week, Lily would find herself receiving quite the berating from Mrs Black’s portrait, who was a most unpleasant woman.

“My mother and father would sit on the opposite side, with me, Bellatrix, and Narcissa here,” Andromeda continued quietly, pointing to the three seats next to the one her mother once occupied. “Sirius and Regulus would sit opposite us, and my grandmother opposite my grandfather. If we had guests, which was rare, they would be next to her. She was the only pleasant company.”

“Didn’t James…?”

“Only once,” Andromeda said amusedly. “Dorea would visit often enough, but Charlus avoided the place as much as he could. His visits would almost always end with him trying not to kill my father or Walburga. He did not tolerate them well, and James, well, you know what he was like. He was a little too righteous for the rest of the family,” she finished with an amused grin. “He never was good at keeping his mouth shut.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Lily sighed fondly.

“Well, when Sirius left, we didn’t see Charlus or James again. I expect he would’ve throttled Walburga for what she did to him, and maybe even Orion for not stopping her. She would’ve killed me too if given the chance. I spent those first few years after running away living in fear they would come for Nymphadora and Ted.”

“But they didn’t.”

“They didn’t, and I don’t know why. Maybe my grandmother managed to convince my grandfather to leave us be. I’ll never know the truth of the matter,” she huffed as she took the same seat she would’ve occupied so many years prior.

“I bet it is strange being here.”

Andromeda nodded.

“It is, and I never thought I would be again. I wouldn’t be if the others were still here. Sirius is the last of the Blacks, unless Cassie is still alive somewhere. I haven’t seen her for more than twenty years.”

Lily had no idea who Cassie was, and she didn’t wish to pry.

Andromeda seemed to be struggling with being here, but the woman smiled and shook her head.

“How is Harry? We’ve not seen him since, well, what happened at St Mungo’s.”

Lily deflated at the question.

“He’s not himself, and he worries me,” she answered honestly. “I’ve not seen him so much either, and…”

She broke off not knowing what else to say about her son.

These past weeks, he’d been in and out of Grimmauld Place, never staying long, and when he was here, Harry was distracted. Lily did not doubt that he was struggling with his feelings for Sabine.

It was easy to see why he liked her so much.

She was a polite young woman, beautiful, and from her brief time with her, Lily did not doubt that she was quite the brilliant witch in her own right.

Trust Harry to fall for the one girl he was never going to be able to have the way he wanted.

It broke her own heart to see him struggling with it, but she was hopeful he would come out on the other side well enough.

“Dora says she’s been looking in on him when she’s on patrol. He says he’s fine, but even she can see he’s not,” Andromeda sighed. “He will be. He just needs some time.”

Lily hoped that was so.

Knowing there was nothing she could do for him was not easy.

There had been a time when she’d been able to right all the wrongs in his life when he’d been just a boy. Scraped knees and even mishaps with magic were simple enough, but she couldn’t mend his broken heart.

It was not easy as a mother to feel so helpless, and yet, Lily knew it was just yet another obstacle for Harry to overcome and do so in his own time.

Still, she didn’t like how reclusive he’d become, but she would see him soon enough. He would not deprive her of celebrating his coming of age, after all.

(Break)

He had lost count how many times he had ventured into the pensieve to revisit the memories of his confrontations with Potter, but he knew each of them word for word, and moment for moment.

In the Department of Mysteries, the boy had been confident in his ability, had cast his spells with excellent form and creativity, and the Dark Lord had been impressed.

During their brief encounter at Malfoy Manor, Potter had been quite furious, less measured, but he’d had no need to be. He had executed his plan, much to Lord Voldemort’s frustration, quite exceptionally.

Now, St Mungo’s was another matter entirely.

The first two times they had met, Potter could well have anticipated that they would, but St Mungo’s had been sprung upon him without the ability to prepare, and yet, he had seemed to be at his most dangerous.

Once more, the Dark Lord could find little fault in the way he fought, and he knew it would be difficult to kill the boy, much more so than any other he’d been confronted, except perhaps for Dumbledore, who, had experience on his side.

Potter may lack that, but he was much more of a threat than the former Headmaster.

He did not share the man’s laurels, fought to kill with everything he cast, and was proving to be adept in doing so.

How many of his followers had been lost to the boy, the Dark Lord could not be certain, but that number was undoubtedly growing.

Despite his remarkable prowess, however, it wasn’t this Voldemort was focused on when revisiting their time together at St Mungo’s. No, it was their final interaction that interested him so, and just how Harry Potter had managed to stop the killing curse in its path.

For as many times as he had viewed the memory, he was no closer to figuring it out, much to his consternation, but he was certain the boy had played a trick of sorts.

Still, that did not account for how adversely it had affected him in the aftermath.

The Dark Lord had undeniably been left reeling from whatever it was that had happened.

He remembered the tightness of his chest, the trouble breathing he’d experienced, and the coldness that seemed to still plague him whenever he thought about it.

It wasn’t a natural cold as though he’d been shut outdoors on a winter’s night. No, it seemed to free him in a way that no amount of warming charms could remedy.

It was a heavy coldness, but somehow, it felt so distant, as out of reach to him as it was unmissable.

The Dark Lord had never experienced such a feeling, and he found he did not care for it.

“My lord,” a voice spoke, pulling him from his thoughts.

He turned to find himself facing Scabior, Bellatrix, and her rather despondent husband.

Rodolphus had been quiet since the death of his younger sibling and had not taken the news of his demise well when he’d woken from his own injuries, that in itself being quite the miracle given how extensive they had been.

“Another?”

Scabior nodded grimly.

“Pusey. He did not arrive yesterday morning, and he was with some of the others the night before in Hogsmeade. No one has heard from him since.”

Fourteen.

In recent weeks, fourteen of his followers had vanished without a trace, undoing what little he’d achieved at St Mungo’s in freeing an even dozen of those who had been arrested at Malfoy Manor.

“Then he was foolish,” the Dark Lord murmured. “What have you found?”

“Only traces, my lord,” Scabior answered tiredly. “Pusey vanished into the forest next to the station where he was killed. There was no body, and any other magic used was cleared.”

The Dark Lord frowned.

Either his Death Eaters were being stalked by a rather talented vigilante, who was able to ensure they could not be tracked, or there was a much simpler explanation for what was happening.

Although he could not prove it, he was certain it was the latter, and the one stalking them was the one who’d already proven to be most unlike any foe he’d faced.

It had to be Potter.

He was the only one courageous enough to do it, after all.

“Allow me to set a trap for them, my lord,” Bellatrix pleaded. “I will find whomever it is and have them brought before you.”

“No, Bella, now is not the time to act, not yet, at least, but it will come soon. For now, urge them to be cautious, to take no foolish risks whilst I ponder what to do. That is all.”

The trio were not pleased with his decision, but if his suspicions proved to be correct, then attempting to trap Potter was not a good idea, not yet, at least.

The boy had already proven himself to be quite the handful when he was backed into a corner, and though it was likely the approach that would need to be adopted once more, Lord Voldemort knew that he too needed to be cautious.

The war had been going well in the beginning, and he had no doubt of his success, but Potter was proving himself to be quite the enigmatic puzzle to solve, and it would take something most clever to achieve it.

Nonetheless, that did not mean that his own efforts had ceased.

As ever, he was watching and waiting for the right moment to strike against any weaknesses he could find in the system, or against any enemies who presented an opportunity to do so.

The problem he seemed to be facing now, however, was that Potter was doing much the same, and recently, was proving to be just that little more successful.

“Yaxley?”

The Minister shook his head, and were he not so pivotal in his plans, he would punish him for his failures, which were beginning to mount up.

He had failed to implement the Muggleborn Registration Act, and now, it seemed, he had failed to find a way to do so once more.

“My lord, they hide like rats, and it is impossible to get to them outside of the chambers. They have learned not to leave anything of value to them exposed even for a moment.”

The Dark Lord was most unimpressed.

“Then you had best think of something quickly, old friend. This is your last chance to secure the Ministry and the Wizengamot. I would move quickly.”

He left the gaping man, not able to trust himself to resist inflicting harm upon him, and though he had not said as much, willing to give Yaxley every opportunity to succeed, a part of him had known he couldn’t rely on that desirable outcome.

No, the Dark Lord had been looking into the matter himself, but that didn’t mean Yaxley needed to know about that, not yet, at least.

(Break)

He scratched a line through yet another complete tally on the wall he’d chosen to etch his count into. There were five altogether, each line representing one less Death Eater plaguing Britain with their presence.

Of course, he could count the several werewolves, and maybe even the sizable clan of giants that had been wiped out at his behest, but he preferred to be conservative, marking only those he knew for certain he was responsible for the death of.

Adrian Pusey was just one of several Harry had added to his count recently, and he did not doubt there would be more.

With a nod, he shifted his attention back to the stack of parchment, a mix of his own research, and what Dumbledore had left him, pertaining to what he hoped were the last of the Horcruxes he was yet to find.

Hufflepuff’s Cup remained the one he was most confident of existing, and Nagini too, though he was yet to lay eyes on the serpent.

What he’d seen in Crouch’s mind, however, was more than enough to convince him that the snake was indeed another of the soul containers. Even so, there was at least one other unaccounted for, and try as he might, Harry was at a loss as to what that could be.

He frowned as he read through the notes one last time, tapping the piece of parchment with the tip of his finger when he came to one of his own notes.

The room on the seventh floor

He’d thought it best not to investigate when the students were in the castle, just in case something went amiss, but now they had returned home for the summer, he was free to do so, but it might well take some explaining to his godfather were he to be discovered.

Nonetheless, with so few other places he suspected inaccessible to him, not without significant consequence at least, he readied himself for a trip to Hogwarts, only to pause as knock sounded at the door.

There were not many able to access the property, so, it either meant that his mother or Sirius were here, which was unlikely as both used the floo, or Gabrielle or Tonks were gracing him with his presence.

Gabrielle.

He’d not seen her for several weeks now.

Understandably, she was busy with her NEWTs, and Harry wasn’t certain he was ready to see her, not in the way she would want, at least.

Besides, she never arrived without letting him know she was doing so, which meant it could only be one other person.

“Come in, Nymphadora,” he called.

She’d been coming by more often recently, bringing him food, occupying one of the chairs by the fire, and imposing herself on him. Not that he minded so much.

He was grateful for the distraction she provided, and it wasn’t as though he disliked her company.

The metamorph glared at him as she pushed the door open.

“If my hands weren’t full…”

“You’d curse me into next week?”

She nodded as she placed the bags of what Harry quickly identified as Chinese food on the table.

“Well, get some plates,” she huffed. “I will not eat out of a container like a filthy peasant.”

“You are a filthy peasant,” Harry muttered.

“Care to repeat that?”

“I said that you are a filthy peasant. You’ve been on shift for what, fourteen hours, and you come here, still in your robes, and not having showered. That’s not the behaviour of a lady of House Black.”

She narrowed her eyes at him warningly, and Harry held up his hands.

“I’ll get the plates.”

Tonks nodded approvingly as she began emptying the bag she had brought along.

For the most part, Harry did not want company, but the metamorph had been a part of his life longer than most, and he knew she was only trying to look out for him.

She never pried into his affairs, nor gave him advice. She just stopped by a couple of times a week to have dinner, and he always found that she managed to lift his spirits for a while.

It was hard not to be by just a little happier around her.

For someone so serious about her career, Tonks didn’t get hung up on much, and she tolerated his jokes, and even his bad moods without question.

Besides, he knew that going to Hogwarts on an empty stomach wasn’t the best of ideas, not when he was uncertain of what he would find, if anything.

(Break)

It was odd just how much her life had changed since she’d been returned home.

It wasn’t different in what she did, but how she was treated.

For the first weeks, barely a few moments would go by before her mother would stick her head around the door of whichever room Sabine was in, or she would spend her time waiting by one of the many windows in the house, watching worriedly until she returned from a hike or the stables.

Her father, however, was stranger.

He didn’t seem to know how to speak to her at all and would fumble over his words almost apologetically before making an excuse to leave.

Marcus had been the best of the three.

He checked in on her regularly, always asked if there was anything she needed, and even walked with her around the expansive grounds of the family home to keep her company, but he never imposed himself on her.

Even so, he couldn’t give her what she wanted. No one could.

Not that she’d expected it, but she’d heard nothing from Harry.

She’d read about his exploits in the newspaper and sometimes hear something on the radio about what was happening in Britain, but there’d been no word from him personally.

Watching him walk away from her home with such dignity, and yet so dejectedly truly had been the worst goodbye the two of them could’ve shared.

What they had deserved better, but Sabine knew that no matter what kind of goodbye would’ve parted them never would’ve been good enough.

Still, she could not help but now see those few precious days together after he’d rescued her as bittersweet, with some of the very best moments she’d experienced, and the very worst in how it had been brought to an end.

She missed Harry.

She missed his dry sense of humour, the way it felt to be in his arms, and how little anything important to most others seemed to matter to him. He didn’t care that she was a Van Droombeeld, that her father was just about the most powerful man in the country, nor that the two of them spending time together as they had would be seen as improper.

He'd never made Sabine feel like what they had was anything less than just a normal relationship, even if it wasn’t.

She smiled sadly at all of those memories, how he had snuck her out of school to visit London for the first time, how she’d watched him tear across the Quodpot field on his broom, and even when he’d taken her on the back of it and flew through the Grand Canyon.

It was quite the gesture, and yet, Sabine knew she would’ve been just as thrilled, just as happy if he’d flown them around the grounds of the school.

They had been simpler days, and though she’d always known they weren’t to last, it didn’t lessen the ache she carried.

“Ah, there you are,” her mother greeted her as she entered the stable. “Your father wishes to speak with you.”

Sabine frowned.

“Is this the part where my life is ruined even further?”

“Not so soon,” her mother sighed. “We managed to convince the Winthrops to hold off on the marriage for a year whilst the two of you get to know one another. That means that your husband-to-be will be coming to stay with us.”

Sabine grimaced at the thought.

“In his own room, of course,” he mother assured her.

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know,” her mother said comfortingly, “but it is the best we could do, and it wasn’t easy.”

“Then why bother?” Sabine snapped. “If I have to marry the idiot, we might as well get it over with.”

She hadn’t intended to lose her temper with her mother, but given all that she’d been through, and was still enduring, it wasn’t so easy to keep her composure at times.

This was just another reminder that her life wasn’t her own, that the path before her had been decided upon before she could even begin to walk it, and yet, she had always known it would come to this.

The taste of freedom would always be worth it, but now, it would serve to only tease her of what she wanted more than anything, something that could never be.

“Fine,” she whispered hollowly. “I’ll speak with father.”

(Break)

“Why are we at Hogwarts?” Tonks asked as they made their way through the castle.

“I’m here because there is something I need to look into. You’re here because you’re nosy cow and wouldn’t let me come alone.”

“If I knew you were coming here, I wouldn’t have bothered,” Tonks muttered. “I thought we were doing something exciting.”

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t prove to be too exciting.”

He led them up the series of moving staircases, through the many hallways until they reached the seventh-floor corridor Harry had found himself the night Malfoy had kidnapped his fellow students.

“There’s nothing here.”

“Yes, there is,” Hary returned, drawing his wand as he felt the faintest of magical presences.

It was like nothing else he’d ever felt before, subtle, but what he could feel was incredibly powerful, though not threatening in an obvious way. Still, when dealing with unfamiliar magic, he knew he needed to be cautious, especially when it felt as old as this and hadn’t faded.

“What is it?” Tonks asked as he came to a stop before a portrait of a man teaching trolls how to dance.

“Something is here,” Harry answered, turning to face the wall opposite. “There’s a room here, and it needs a key to open it.”

For a moment, he thought that perhaps he would need to speak parseltongue to enter, but no. Malfoy had managed to do so, and as Harry began to scrutinise the magic a little more closely, he chuckled to himself.

It was rather simple, a little too simple for his liking, but he reminded himself that simple did not necessarily lead to anything good.

“You figured it out?”

He nodded as he began pacing back and forth, feeling the magic begin to envelope him as he repeated his request in his mind.

‘I need to find what Tom Riddle has hidden here.’

On his third pass of the stretch of blank stone, a door began to form, and Harry nodded triumphantly.

“Do not touch anything,” he warned as he pushed it open.

The dumbfounded Tonks frowned at him as she drew her own wand, and the two of them entered, what they found within eliciting a curse from Harry.

“Oh, this might take a while,” he huffed irritably.

“What will?”

“I don’t know, that is the problem.”

(Break)

He stood upon the hillside overlooking the cluster of houses below.

Of the three targets he’d chosen, this one offered the best view, and as he brought his wand to bear, a smile crested his lips in anticipation of what was to come.

Yaxley was not as resourceful or as cunning as him, nor did the man possess the capability of achieving the same feats.

The Dark Lord prided himself on his ability to find anything he set his mind to, whether that be through his own brilliant deductions, or manipulating others into assisting him.

Over the years, he managed the greatest of things; magic no other could hope to grasp, creations few would think possible, and even finding things most thought lost to the ravages of time.

Such things did not matter to Lord Voldemort.

He had never found an obstacle he could not overcome, and finding what was hidden was merely another of those feats.

There was nothing that could be hidden from him.

His tenacity coupled with his ambition would never see it so, and as he raised his wand, he reminded himself that what he was about to do was just yet another of those things that would stand in the way of others, but not him.

With only a flick of his wand, an explosion left the earth trembling from the force, and he was almost certain he could hear another emanating from several miles away.

He had chosen these victims simply because they were close to one another, and they served the same purpose.

Those still with the audacity to oppose him would learn a great lesson this night, and with three votes less to rely upon, and the fear they may be next instilled within the rest, the Dark Lord did not doubt there would be hesitation; enough that such opposition would now be voided.

With a smirk to himself, he descended the hill to ensure his efforts had not been in vain, and as he reached to outermost layer of what had been considerable protections around the home, he saw that, as ever, his work proved to be fruitful.

Still, a frown creased his brow at the sight of a woman all but dragging a child away from the burning home, clawing desperately as she crawled away.

Her legs sat at odd angles from where they were broken, and she whimpered in pain, though it was not so terrible that she did not realise her predicament as she laid eyes upon him.

“My son…”

“Oh, do not worry,” the Dark Lord said comfortingly “He will be going with you. Avada Kedavra.”

The jet of green light stilled her, and the infant she’d carried in her arms began to bawl, undoubtedly sensing the demise of his mother.

He never could abide the sounds of screaming children. It was a most irksome sound, and with another curse, he silenced the babe before apparating away to the next home he intended to cleanse of the presence of its owners.

No, Lord Fawley would not be opposing him any longer, nor would the Ogdens or Davis’s before the night was done.

The latter of the families may consider themselves to be neutral in political matters but now was not the time for neutrality. The rest who thought of themselves as such would see that for themselves.

It was time to make a choice, and given what had happened tonight, there was only one any would dare make.

(Break)

“What is this place? I didn’t know it was here?”

Harry looked around at the piles of broken ancient furniture and other items that filled the enormous space. Evidently, many people had found it over the years, but it seemed that it had been left mostly alone for the past few centuries at least.

Very little he could see was new or invented recently.

He could see many antiquated versions of things he was familiar with, and many others that were completely alien to him.

“These books were written in the fourteenth century!” Tonks exclaimed, holding a tome aloft.

“Did you check to see if they were cursed?”

She dropped it and wiped her hand on the front of her robes.

“I did say not to touch anything. There are tonnes of things in here you wouldn’t want to come into contact with.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because the many different magicks here have been almost overwhelming since we entered.”

Tonks’s gaze flitted around the room, and she moved to stand next to him.

“But you’re looking for something specific.”

Harry nodded as he raised his wand, the one Wolfe had made for him.

Closing his eyes, he searched for the familiar, unpleasant magic he’d become so accustomed to, and felt it retreat from him the moment it was detected.

“Oh, you can’t hide from me, you little shit,” he muttered, stalking forward and clearing masses of furniture out of his path.

“Is someone here?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

He paused as the magic vanished once more, and he changed direction suddenly, sprinting towards where he had felt it emanating from.

“I’ve got you now,” he muttered, increasing his space.

“Harry, wait!”

As suddenly as he changed directions a moment prior, he came to a halt, holding his arm to the side to prevent Tonks from passing him, his gaze fixed on an odd bust of a warlock.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

“Harry, what…”

He placed his hand over her mouth as he levitated the strange tiara resting atop the warlock’s head.

Immediately, he felt the Horcrux attempting to resist his efforts, but Harry wrestled it under control, securing it inside a silvery bubble, ceasing its attempt to force itself into his mind.

“If you wanted a tiara, princess, we could’ve brought one in Hogsmeade!” Tonks huffed.

Harry ignored the barb in favour inspecting the piece of jewellery, cursing as he caught sight of a familiar symbol etched into it.

“Not like this one,” he sighed. “This is one of a kind.”

Tonks’ eyes widened as he pointed to the symbol of the eagle.

“It belonged to Ravenclaw! That must be worth…”

“It’s priceless,” Harry broke in, conjuring a box to keep it in until he was ready to destroy it.. “It was lost almost one thousand years ago.”

“And you just happened to know exactly where it was?”

“No,” Harry denied. “I knew something I was looking for was here, just not what it was.”

“What are you going to do…”

Tonks broke off as a shrill alarm began blaring from within her pocket, and she hurriedly removed a leather wallet, reading a missive of sorts before looking towards Harry gravely.

“What is it?”

“Voldemort. He’s killed three families tonight, Harry. We should…”

Harry nodded as he pocketed Ravenclaw’s diadem, the triumph of finding it turning into ash in his mouth as he pondered who Riddle’s victims had been.

He couldn’t know for certain from such an extensive list, but what he did know was that the man would’ve chosen them carefully to ensure their deaths would benefit him and ambitions.

Families with members on the Wizengamot, which would now undoubtedly be three fewer of those who opposed the Dark Lord.