[Songs of Summer]: Ebony Houses, Harry/Nott Sr., R, 3/4

[lomonaaeren]

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Part Three—Seventh Year

Harry steps through the front doors of Grimmauld Place and listens in satisfaction as they fall shut behind him. Then he moves slowly forwards, all his senses spreading out around him like a cat’s whiskers.

He might finally have found the hiding place of the last of the bloody Horcruxes, the only unknown one.

He wasn’t in Voldemort’s mind long before he heard the word “Horcrux,” of course. Voldemort’s mind circles obsessively around them, congratulating himself on such a clever scheme and crying out that he’s the only one who ever managed to create multiple Horcruxes. That other people might have been more clever than he is and decided to create just one or none isn’t something he considers.

Harry has also gradually become aware of the Horcruxes’ names and natures and hiding places and protections. It took that long because Voldemort is so mad that his thoughts rarely proceed in a linear order, and Harry isn’t about to risk himself by probing or trying to direct the madman’s thoughts.

Not when he can keep his promise to Theo and destroy Voldemort without a lot of risks.

He took care of the diadem first, since it was in Hogwarts, and it wasn’t much trouble to sneak down to the Chamber of Secrets and use a basilisk fang the way he did on the diary. Then he and Justinian went to the old Gaunt home, where Harry had to stop Justinian from putting on the ring.

(Honestly, Harry thinks as he eases his way past Walburga Black’s portrait. He’s a lot younger than Justinian and he managed to resist the ring’s compulsion. Justinian is getting complacent in his fit old age).

Getting to the cup was more difficult since Bellatrix Lestrange hid it in her vault, but Justinian finally said that it would probably work to approach the goblins and ask about getting the ugly thing out of the bank. They refused at first, and it took some haggling, but at last they released the cup for a portion of the basilisk corpse and a hefty payment in gold.

(Harry thinks fondly of Justinian’s worry about how much Harry would have ended up paying as he quietly treads up the stairs. He was only soothed when it turned out that Harry wasn’t spending anything out of his own vault. This is where it’s handy to have a rich godfather who’s desperate to make up for the years he left you in an abusive home and has absolutely no questions about what you’re going to use all those Galleons on).

They also know that Voldemort’s snake is one. However, it will take a lot of work to get close to her, so they’re saving that for a moment when Justinian can pretend to “discover” that his “master” is in Britain.

The locket was the most puzzling one. Harry and Justinian made it all the way through the traps and the Inferi around the lake, making a Muggle murderer they’d snatched from prison drink the potion, and then discovered that the locket was a fake. They eventually figured out from the note who must have taken it, but that didn’t tell them where it was.

(Harry glances in at the Black family tapestry as he passes it. Regulus Black’s name shines in silver thread. He shakes his head. What a bastard).

But they’ve looked in many other places that were important to Regulus Black in life, including other Black family properties and Hogwarts, and it seems like it has to be Grimmauld Place.

Harry just has to go carefully, tread quietly. If Kreacher and Sirius find out what he’s doing, he’s never going to hear the end of it.

At least, since Sirius insisted on being made the Secret-Keeper, there’s a lot less chance of running into Order members here.

Harry follows the faint, beaming sense of Dark magic to an upper room and a row of books. He frowns, but then remembers Sirius telling him about the way that the Weasleys were cleaning around the house when they first got there. Someone could have stashed the Horcrux here to keep it safe, or maybe it even has enough wherewithal to hide itself.

Harry didn’t pick up on anything like that from Voldemort’s memories, not for this particular Horcrux, but it’s always best to be prepared.

He draws his wand just in case, and carefully shifts the books out of the way. A tarnished-looking locket comes into view, one covered with emeralds in the shape of a snake, or an S.

Commune with me.

The voice seems to slip into Harry’s mind, almost arching past his notice, the same way that Parseltongue slips out of his mouth when he’s speaking it unless he really concentrates. He narrows his eyes and conjures a stick with his wand, using that to slip through the Horcrux’s chain and pick it up.

Commune with me!

The thing sounds forceful now, insistent. Harry feels the temptation to put the bloody thing around his neck, but he shakes his head and fights it off. His Occlumency is good for more than just spying on Voldemort.

He spells the stick to hover in midair and keep the locket dangling while he takes out the cold iron box from his pocket, lined with unicorn hair. It was a Christmas gift from Justinian a few months ago. Harry slips the locket into the box and sighs in relief at the way the voice stops speaking the minute the lid is shut.

“Harry? What are you doing here?”

Harry jumps and turns around. Sirius is standing in the doorway of the library, staring at him with wide eyes. They flicker back and forth between the box and Harry’s face.

“Sirius, hello,” Harry says. His heartbeat calms down, and he considers his options. He would prefer to talk Sirius around if he could, but if he can’t…

Well, he’s got pretty good at a targeted Memory Charm. Justinian brought him a few Death Eaters to practice on.

“What are you doing?” Sirius comes slowly the rest of the way into the room, looking around and frowning a little, maybe at the dust that manages to build up on the shelves and objects even with Sirius regularly casting cleaning charms now. It’s not like Kreacher will do any of the work. “You don’t have to steal, you know. If you wanted something, you could ask me.”

Harry manages to smile. “I know.”

“Then—what are you doing?”

Harry sighs. “I’ve been feeling Dark magic in the house since I first came here,” he says, and that’s true enough; it just wasn’t this Dark magic. It took experience with Horcruxes for Harry to be able to identify one. “I went away and researched what it could be.”

“At Nott’s house?”

Sirius has a way of wrinkling his nose when he’s upset that half-bares his teeth. Harry rolls his eyes. “Where else?”

“We have a library here,” Sirius mutters, rebelliously.

“You told me that you didn’t want me to look up Dark Arts here!”

Sirius wavers back and forth in silence for a moment, while Harry watches in amusement that’s hard for him to hide. Then he throws up his arms. “In the future, look up Dark Arts here!”

“I’ll do that,” Harry agrees. He of course doesn’t intend to give up the Nott library any more than he intends to give up Theo and Justinian’s company, but he’s not foolish enough to give up this unexpected option, either. “Anyway, I found out that it’s probably a Horcrux.”

“A what?”

“It’s a container that someone who wants to be immortal makes. They commit a murder, use that to split their soul, and stick the bit of their soul in the container.”

Sirius stares him in horror. Harry nods solemnly. Of course, the way he phrased that was on purpose, to make Sirius think about other things than what Harry’s source of information on Horcruxes is.

“That’s terrible,” Sirius whispers. “Who would be mad enough…? One of my ancestors?”

Harry shakes his head. “I know what Voldemort’s magic feels like, Sirius,” he says, and sighs a little as Sirius flinches at the name. Once he became Secret Keeper for Grimmauld Place, he started venturing out in disguise. One attempt to resist Dumbledore made him confident enough for others.

He’s changed somewhat in the past few years. But not enough to no longer fear a name.

“Then we have to give it to Dumbledore at once!”

“Do you think he would destroy it?” Harry asks, raising his eyebrows a little. “Or would he keep it and tell us he did?”

Actually, Harry thinks Dumbledore probably would destroy it. But in the first place, he’s unlikely to know how, and in the second, any chance to manipulate Sirius’s loyalty and make sure he puts Harry first is not to be missed.

“Albus is a good man.”

“Yes, but he was wrong about the decision to separate us,” Harry says, his go-to weapon whenever Sirius starts acting too moral. “He’s still keeping secrets about the prophecy.” Harry knows that a prophecy exists because of his spying in Voldemort’s mind, but he pretends it’s because Sirius confessed to him the summer after his fifth year in a rush of guilt. “You know he could tell us the full thing. But he won’t.”

Frankly, Harry isn’t much concerned about hearing the full prophecy. His promise to Theo to destroy Voldemort for Theo’s sake is all that he needs to keep walking this road.

“That’s true,” Sirius mumbles, staring at the floor.

Harry softens his smile by the time Sirius looks up. “And he told me once that he doesn’t always trust himself with some decisions. For example, he said that about the Mirror of Erised.” Harry looked into that during first year, and Dumbledore caught him at it, although Harry didn’t tell Dumbledore that he saw himself standing free and clear on a hilltop, with shattered chains and broken cages behind him. “He wouldn’t tell me what he saw in it, but he told me that. We’re sort of keeping him from temptation, don’t you think? By keeping this away.”

“And you know how to destroy it?” Sirius asks, instead of answering.

Harry nods. “I found a spell that can do it.”

“What spell?”

Harry sighs a little. “Sirius, do you want to know? When Dumbledore can read your mind if he wants?”

Sirius crosses his arms. “I’m trying with Occlumency! It’s just hard!”

Harry wants to retort that he was great at it by the time he was fourteen years old, but Sirius has neither Harry’s driving desire to exist free of all control nor his apparently marked talent for it. He holds up a hand. “I know. I’m just saying.”

“Just saying what?”

“That it’s better if you don’t know what spell it is.”

Sirius sighs and flops down in the middle of the floor like a dog barely in human form. “I’m going to have avoid Albus’s eyes as it is the next time he visits.”

Harry laughs, because that’s resignation he hears, and reaches out to ruffle Sirius’s hair. He likes doing that more than letting Sirius do it to him. “It’s for the best of causes.”

Sirius smiles at him.

*

Harry steps back as he watches the basilisk fang dive into the locket. Even though he’s destroyed five Horcruxes now, counting the diary, it never gets any less strange to watch. The locket writhes and shrieks and tries to open and sprays black blood all over the cold iron tray that Harry’s conjured beneath it.

And then it dies. Harry shakes his head as the black mist fades, and looks at Justinian.

“The snake?”

“The snake,” Justinian agrees softly. His smile is mostly in his eyes, but all the brighter for that, even in the middle of the dark cellar where they’ve taken to bringing and destroying the Horcruxes. Theo readily accepts that there are things they don’t want to discuss with him, just in case Voldemort ever manages to use Legilimency on him. “It will be the work of some months. I must set up the pretense that I am still loyal to him.”

“Instead of to yourself,” Harry says with a nod.

“Oh, no, Harry.”

The dark tone that makes Justinian’s voice sound like crushed velvet has always stirred things in Harry, but now that he’s seventeen and close to the point where he can be sure his desires aren’t controlling him into a bad decision, it makes his stomach swoop. “To whom, then?” he whispers.

“Can you ask?”

Harry lifts his head to study Justinian in the fleeting, fading light of the cellar. Justinian smiles back, his hand playing with something down at his side. Harry thinks it might be his wand, thinks they might be about to duel, but Justinian pulls his sleeve back and reveals the runed, scarred Dark Mark.

“I have shed one brand,” Justinian murmurs. “I am waiting for yours.”

Harry takes a long step forwards, and stops. Justinian watches him with those wild, clever eyes, and smiles.

“I wouldn’t feel safe branding you until the Dark Lord is dead,” Harry finally whispers.

“As you wish, Harry.”

Those words do so much to Harry that it’s hard to concentrate on the aftermath of cleaning up the Horcrux. He has to step back, close his eyes, and bringing up the glittering ebony house in his mind to hold back all the things he wants to say to Justinian, the desire to crush Justinian’s mouth to his.

Later. It can wait.

In the darkness of Harry’s bedroom, it does indeed wait, until the moment when Harry can’t any longer and shoves his hands roughly down into his pants, bringing himself off with a gasp and a cry.

*

Once again, Harry has been summoned to Dumbledore’s office. He sits on his chair, tapping his fingers on his knee, really not in the mood for this. Justinian sent him a letter two days ago that implies he’s getting close to killing the snake. Harry has hardly been able to study for his NEWTS or do homework since then, despite Theo continually harassing him.

“Harry.”

The Headmaster wasn’t in the office when he arrived, but luckily, he comes into it now. Harry takes a petty satisfaction in the fact that Dumbledore looks as harassed as Harry feels. He sinks down into the chair behind his desk and shakes his head at Harry.

“What have you done?”

Harry lifts his eyebrows. He assumed he would have some clue as to the reason he’d been summoned once Dumbledore started talking, but no, he doesn’t. “Done, sir?”

He wonders for a fleeting moment if this is about manipulating Sirius into being the Secret Keeper, but that was almost two years ago now. And Dumbledore is bringing his hands down on the desk with a thump that makes this seem immediate.

“I know what the diary was.”

Ah. Harry sits back. This sounds like a recent discovery, but then again, Dumbledore didn’t say so. And Harry wouldn’t put it past the Headmaster to have discovered the truth about Horcruxes long ago and simply never told him. Harry has never ben someone Dumbledore trusted. “So do I,” he offers.

He doesn’t actually want to fight Dumbledore. The man has been a nuisance in his life, someone who wanted to control him, but Harry has shrugged off that control via means Dumbledore does not even know of. And it would be a distraction in Harry’s more important fight against Voldemort.

Harry doesn’t mind sharing information. But he is watching to see if this is another attempt to restrict his freedom.

Dumbledore closes his eyes and breathes heavily through his nose, which is a bit entertaining. Then he opens them again and focuses on Harry, voice soft and bleak. “When I learned of the diary’s nature as a Horcrux, I also realized that he must have made more than one. If he had had only the one, Tom would have faded from existence when it was destroyed.”

The way that we hope he will when Justinian destroys the snake. “All right, Headmaster. That makes sense.”

Dumbledore leans forwards. “Through going back to Tom Riddle’s past and examining the memories of people who knew him, I have managed to learn the likely location and nature of some of the Horcruxes. But they were not n the places I searched for them.”

Harry acknowledges that he and Justinian could have covered their tracks better. Then again, they hadn’t really thought that anyone else would be searching for the Horcruxes. “I understand, sir.”

“Do you?” Dumbledore closes his eyes, a genuine look of anguish on his face. “Do you understand what you have done by informing a loyal Death Eater of the existence of the Horcruxes, Harry?”

Harry studies him, but he also studies the surroundings of Dumbledore’s office, without being obvious about it. The phoenix is only a fledgling at the moment, so probably not a very good defense. However, the instruments scattered all about have unknown capabilities, and Dumbledore’s Floo is probably sealed. It’s what Harry would do. He also heard the door lock behind him when he entered.

So. He won’t be able to fight his way out of here. He’ll need to reveal the truth. That irritates Harry, to be constrained in any way at all, but he’ll repay Dumbledore for that later.

He sits back, a little, shaking his head. “Justinian isn’t a loyal Death Eater.”

Dumbledore stares at him with his mouth slightly open.

“He made that choice when Theo brought me home for the first time,” Harry continues. His private feelings for Justinian are his and his alone; he doesn’t have to confess them. And Dumbledore will get nothing if he tries to press into Harry’s mind with Legilimency. “He decided that he didn’t want to risk his son’s best friend or the chance to get in good with the Boy-Who-Lived by binding himself to someone who had been, as far as he knew, gone for twelve years at that point.”

“Oh, Harry,” Dumbledore whispers.

Harry cocks his head curiously.

“Justinian Nott is clever indeed, to have fooled you.” Dumbledore takes a long breath. “Forgive me, but I cannot trust you. Voldemort surely knows all about the Horcruxes by now. There is no way that he doesn’t.”

“Of course he knows about them. He made them, didn’t he?”

Dumbledore shoots him a sharp glance. “Pretending ignorance doesn’t become you, child.”

Is it like that, then? Very well.

Harry sits up in his chair and lets the ebony house shine into his face. Dumbledore starts back. Then he sits very still, ignoring the worried trill from his phoenix.

“I am not a child,” Harry says softly. “I survived my horrible childhood and left it behind. I have thrived in Slytherin House, and I have resisted the efforts of others to destroy or control me. I have tracked down and destroyed five of the Horcruxes. That you believe I could be fooled by someone I’ve lived with for years, or duped about his loyalties, is insulting, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore remains still for some moments. Then he shakes his head slightly. “You did not destroy the Horcruxes.”

“Yes, I did,” Harry says.

“No, they—fake copies—you could not possibly know what they—”

“I know what it takes to destroy one,” Harry says, glad that he’s managed to interpret Dumbledore’s mumbling. “Why wouldn’t I? Or have you forgotten about the basilisk fang that I plunged into the diary? Are you also going to argue that that was a decoy left out by Justinian? When I didn’t even know him at the time?”

Dumbledore stares at him. His thoughts aren’t clear in his eyes. Harry has no idea whether the man believes him or not, or whether he’s too utterly committed to the idea that no Death Eater could abandon the Dark Lord to do so.

Dumbledore finally takes a deep breath. “Are you aware of how many Horcruxes Lord Voldemort made?”

“Six,” Harry says coolly. “Because seven is an important magical number, perhaps the most magical one. He wanted to make six of them and leave his soul as the seventh piece, in his own body.” He smiles thinly. “I’m afraid that I rather put paid to that last plan when I was only one year old.”

Dumbledore sags back behind the desk and nods, closing his eyes. “So you have not destroyed all of them.”

“No, but the sixth one is rather better-protected than the rest.”

“I cannot trust you, Harry. I cannot trust Justinian Nott. I hope that you will trust me when I say that I will make every effort to find and destroy the last Horcruxes on my own.”

“Horcrux. There’s only one.”

“Are you certain of that?”

Harry pauses, then nods. He’s been in Voldemort’s mind often enough by now that he knows there are no other Horcruxes. He doesn’t know why Dumbledore thinks there might be seven, but he probably won’t share the source of his information with Harry.

“Yes, sir, I am. Why would he make another one? Why would he violate the plan of having seven shards of soul? Eight isn’t a true magical number in comparison.”

“But seven Horcruxes…”

“Why do you think there are two more, sir?”

Dumbledore is silent.

Harry sighs a little. Well, he asked and wasn’t told, but he expected that. He stands up. “You should know that I also want to destroy Voldemort, sir. Just because I walked a different path than yours doesn’t mean I’m allied with him.”

Dumbledore shakes his head slowly, with a heavy, doom-laden expression. “I do hope that you aren’t going to get in my way, Harry. That is what I’m most afraid of. Us interfering with each other, when we never meant to do so.”

“Well, there’s a simple solution to that, Headmaster. You share your information with me, and I’ll share mine with you.”

Dumbledore’s smile is tinged with melancholy. “I am afraid that yours is tainted by its coming from Justinian Nott, Harry.”

“You really don’t believe that the enemy of your enemy is your friend, do you?”

“I count all who walk the path of Voldemort’s destruction and who once vowed to serve him as my enemies.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. His talent is more in Occlumency than Legilimency, but he’s picked up on a few useful gifts from developing his mental walls. He can sometimes tell when someone is lying. Like now. “You don’t believe that, sir.”

Dumbledore stares at him.

“It’s a minor lie, but it’s a lie.” Harry studies him. “Which Death Eater do you trust? Is it Snape? You might want to consider that if you can trust one, then you could trust another, especially one who’s had years to harm me and hasn’t.”

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore says, when he seems to recover his voice.

Harry sighs, and turns, and walks out of the room, shaking his head.

*

“I fear that Dumbledore may be right.”

Harry nods, stepping back from the Pensieve that Justinian placed on the table ten minutes ago. He allowed Harry to watch his memory of destroying Nagini, by casting a spell he found in an ancient book that maddened the snake and sent her after Justinian specifically. Justinian fought a “desperate” battle against her, until he ended up casting Fiendfyre, which he ended as she died and shed black blood, acting as if he were horrified that it had been necessary to kill her.

But Voldemort, although he shrieked curses at Justinian and raised his wand to torture him, remained in his body, neither dead nor expelled from it. And when Justinian cast the Killing Curse at him, it was absorbed by that deadly pale homunculus skin and faded.

Justinian is lucky that he escaped with his life. Despite knowing he’s perfectly fine, Harry still insists on checking him over with gentle fingers after watching the memory. Justinian sits and practically purrs under his touch, watching Harry with half-lidded eyes.

“He has another Horcrux,”

“His mind is absolutely clear that he does not,” Harry says quietly. “Even if he thought to make another one because he knows the diary has been destroyed, I would have known about it. I would have known.”

“I do not doubt it, Harry.” Justinian reaches out and cups his chin. Harry leans close to him, eyes fluttering shut, and Justinian makes a soft sound. “I think the only answer is that he has a Horcrux he does not know about.”

“How is that possible? The ritual to create a Horcrux has to be intentional…”

“Will you allow me to try something, Harry?”

Harry looks into Justinian’s eyes and shifts a little closer, unable to stop himself from smiling. He knows from the way Justinian shivers that it’s a wicked one. “You may try so many things, Justinian.”

“This is very specific.” Justinian’s eyes have darkened until they look more black than blue, and he clearly enjoys looking at Harry, but he does not flinch. “Please allow me to cast the spell.”

A spell. Of course. Harry bites back his disappointment and nods. “Of course. Please cast it.” He pauses, with his hand still wrapped around Justinian’s wrist. “Do I need to move away?”

“No,” Justinian breathes, and raises his wand, tracing it over Harry in a motion like a widdershins spiral. Harry stands there and basks in the feel of Justinian’s magic, intimate in a different way as it rains on his skin than it has been when Harry has used it to reach Voldemort’s mind.

The magic flickers around him and dances in circles with a sound like a snicker. A faint green light fills the room. Harry blinks and opens his eyes. That light seems to be the color of the Killing Curse. He’s not actually sure what it means.

Justinian’s face is ashen. Harry reaches to comfort him, but Justinian shakes his head and taps his wand against a napkin on the table, Transfiguring it into a mirror. He holds it out to Harry.

Harry stares at the lightning bolt on his forehead glowing the color of the Killing Curse.

“An accidental Horcrux,” he whispers.

“Yes.” Justinian slips his hand behind Harry’s neck and holds him there. Harry can’t revel in the touch as he usually does. He can’t take his eyes from the mirror and the damning glow around his scar. “I feared it might be so. He considers you a great enemy, a worthy death. He would have come to your house that night with the intention of creating a Horcrux, and when the backlash happened…”

“It could have created one or torn loose a piece of his fractured soul.”

“Yes. Or it did something similar that resulted in your becoming a Horcrux. What happened that night is still a great mystery.”

Harry is silent, tracing his fingers along the lightning bolt for a moment. All he can think during that time is that he promised Theo he would destroy Voldemort, bring him down, and now…

No.

“Harry? What are you thinking?”

“That keeping my promise to Theo would require my death at Voldemort’s hands.”

He gasps as Justinian tightens his hands on Harry’s shoulders, before he can explain what he means to do. “You will not be doing that,” Justinian whispers, bending over him. “You will not. If you thought that I would agree to this, then you are a fool. And I know you are no fool.”

“No, I don’t intend to die,” Harry snaps, wriggling away from Justinian. As much as he can understand Justinian’s reaction, he hates anyone holding him in a way that restricts his movements. “And I told Theo I would destroy Voldemort. Not kill him.”

Justinian pauses, then nods, his hair hanging down over his eyes. He sits back behind the table, calmer now but more disheveled than Harry has ever seen him. “What do you intend to do, then?”

“We’ll find a way to destroy his physical body,” Harry says. “Expel his spirit from it. And trap that spirit. If he can never return, and no one can ever resurrect him, then it doesn’t matter if one Horcrux is left.”

“But if a Killing Curse could not destroy his body—”

“A Killing Curse can’t destroy a Horcrux, either,” Harry interrupts. It was one of the first things they tried on the cup, and the reason that Justinian chose Fiendfyre for his destruction of Nagini. “But I think Fiendfyre or basilisk venom would probably take care of his body just like they would a crafted object with a shard of his soul in it. Which is essentially what he is now.”

Justinian pauses, then nods shortly. “But we have another problem. If Dumbledore knows about the Horcrux in you, or even about its existence…”

“I don’t know if he knows it’s in me—”

“We cannot take the chance—”

“Peace, Justinian.”

Justinian sucks in a sharp breath and shakes his head a little, then sits back behind the table. “Yes, forgive me,” he murmurs. “The last thing you need is someone panicking on you. It is only that—I cannot bear the thought—”

Harry gently strokes his shoulder. Justinian’s panic is all the tribute Harry needs to know that any decision he makes about Justinian in the future is the right one. “Peace,” he repeats. “It’s Christmas. We have a few more months for me to spend in Hogwarts.”

“And how will that help?”

“It will allow me to get closer to Dumbledore the way you did to Voldemort.” Harry smiles. “Convince him to trust me, see how much he knows.”

“But he is unlikely to tell you all he knows. You know how he likes to keep secrets.”

“Yes,” Harry agrees. “But another thing that being close to him will do is weaken his Occlumency barriers. Trust makes them harder to sustain.”

“What do you intend to do?” Justinian is leaning closer to him, shining eyes bent on Harry.

Harry smiles at him. “Build an ebony house in his mind. Or should I say, a fortress this time? A fortress in enemy territory, yes, I think that’s the right way to put it. One that can…influence his thinking.”

Justinian smiles like a wild thing, and Harry’s heart rejoices to see it.