Written in the Stars - An Unfamiliar Fear

An Unfamiliar Fear

“I like blue, Harry. Let me have some blue at my funeral.”

It had been six weeks since they had buried Jonas, and yet, the sting of loss had not even begun to abate for Harry. He missed his friend, his witty, self-deprecating humour, and simply his mere presence.

He twirled the stem of the single Veronica flower he had taken from the service, blue of course, between his fingers as he released a deep breath before placing it on the desk in his study.

Harry knew loss well, had carried it with him his entire life, but Jonas’s death resonated much differently with him.

His parent’s murder had always been there, plaguing him often when he slept and the days that followed after he’d dreamed it.

Still, he’d only ever truly dreamt it.

Jonas had died in front of his very eyes, and even now, after everything, he had been powerless to stop it.

Perhaps he merely felt guilty or perhaps it was the realisation that, despite his best efforts, he could not save everyone, not even the select few he held in his heart.

It could be any of the others next. A daunting but undeniable prospect.

Harry shook his head of the thought.

It would serve no purpose to dwell on something so maudlin.

Jonas’s death had only been the beginning, after all.

Once more, having returned Jonas’s body home, Harry had met the Hag that was Jonas’s mother, who, if truth be told, seemed rather dismissive of the death of her son.

It turned out Jonas was one of almost a dozen children she had birthed, and one she had such little care for, as she saw him as a human. Her rather aloof reaction had angered Harry, but Lucinda reminded him that it was not in a hag’s nature to be so maternal.

Jonas had told him much the same over the years.

His mother had attended the funeral at the very least, but Harry had avoided her throughout the service, not wanting to do something he may later regret because of his grief.

She had stayed until he was buried, and then simply left without a word to any.

Jonas’s father, however, could not have reacted any differently.

The man was nothing short of devastated at the loss of the son he had raised, and there had been no words Harry could offer to bring him any comfort.

There was no doubt in his mind he blamed Harry for what had happened, even if he did not say it in so many words.

No, it had been an awful few weeks, and losing and burying Jonas had been only the beginning.

Oddly enough, Lord Greengrass and the rest of the family did not seem to blame Harry for what had happened to Daphne.

The curse had done far too much damage to save her from her fate, but Harry’s efforts had given enough time for the Greengrass parents to arrive at Hogsmeade via Hogwarts to be there for her in her final moments.

According to Lord Greengrass, and those that had been there, Daphne had died somewhat peacefully in the presence of her parents.

It brought little relief to Harry to know that, as again, he was reminded that he had been unable to prevent her death.

Hers had not hit him quite as hard as Jonas, but he mourned for her still.

What they once had may have come and gone, but he still cared for the girl and the effect her murder had on Pansy, who had been beside herself since.

She too didn’t blame Harry, and just like Lord Greengrass, had turned her anger towards Draco Malfoy.

The thought of him sickened Harry to his very core, but he had not gotten away with it, not even close, and Harry took some comfort knowing that he would be suffering every day of his life in more ways than one.

Not that he would live to truly experience the long-term misery Harry had ensured he would endure, especially if Lord Greengrass were to manage to find him.

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by a tentative knock at the door and he straightened his robes before clearing his throat.

“Come in,” he called.

It was Sirius that entered the room, offering him a cautious smile as he did so.

Harry had not been in the most accommodating of moods with all that had happened, but he was trying to move past it as Jonas would want him to.

“How’re you getting on?” Sirius asked as he took the seat on the opposite side of the desk.

Harry could only shrug in response.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

Sirius nodded his understanding.

“It doesn’t ever really get easier,” he sighed. “It will always hurt when you think of them. You just get better at coping with the loss. I find that thinking of the better times I shared with your parents helps. I won’t ever get over losing them, but I want to remember them for the people I knew when they were at their happiest.”

“I’m trying,” Harry assured the man.

“I know,” Sirius replied with a smile, “and it will take some time. You’ll get there.”

Harry knew that he would and he appreciated the words of his godfather.

“Thank you.”

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder as he stood.

“Come on,” he urged. “The Tornadoes are playing the Harpies and you’re going with me and the werewolves.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Harry murmured.

“Well, you’d better get in the mood because you’re bloody paying, you rich little shit. I spent my allowance already.”

Harry laughed for the first time in as long as he could remember as Sirius pulled him to his feet.

“You don’t have an allowance,” he pointed out.

“Cassie has limited my spending after the incident in The Cauldron,” Sirius grumbled.

“You mean after you and Remus set fire to the bar with Firewhiskey?”

“You make it sound so dramatic.”

“Mundungus Fletcher ended up naked from how badly his robes were burnt,” Harry reminded him. “As far as I’m concerned, you should have to pay compensation to everyone who had to see that.”

Sirius grimaced.

“I think seeing it for myself should have been enough of a punishment,” he muttered, grimacing at the memory.

“Are you talking about Dung again?” Remus questioned as they entered the kitchen.

He was engrossed in a game of chess with Cain who appeared to be losing quite badly.

Sirius nodded.

“I still wish one of you would obliviate that picture from my head. Honestly, I’ve not been able to eat chipolatas since.”

Remus smirked in response as Cain growled irritably.

“I’m done for in three moves,” he groaned.

Remus smiled proudly.

“You are,” he agreed.

The game finished a moment later, and a frustrated Cain reluctantly offered his hand to the older werewolf.

“Well played.”

Remus accepted the proffered limb and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“You’re getting much better,” he praised. “You’d beat Sirius without any problems.”

“Like that’s an achievement,” Harry snorted.

Sirius shot him glare, but his expression brightened as he remembered why they had gathered in the kitchen.

“Quidditch! Harry’s taking us to the match.”

Both Remus and Cain seemed surprised by the revelation, but neither were opposed to the idea.

The two of them had spent a lot of time together recently, bonding over their similarities and having formed quite the friendship for themselves.

Harry was pleased they had one another.

Despite him and Sirius having always done what they can for their friends, having one of their own kind around was good for both of them.

“Nice,” Cain declared. “I’m backing the Tornadoes in this one.”

“No chance,” Sirius declared. “Jones is too good a seeker to be beaten.”

“I bet Harry could beat her,” Cain replied.

Harry shook his head at the thought.

It had been so long since he had flown, let alone chased a Snitch.

Perhaps he should invest some time into it?

He’d had no reason to since Viktor had left Durmstrang and gone on to be the most sought-after player in the wizarding world.

He still wrote to Harry often, but with everything that had happened for both of them over the past few years, they hadn’t found the time to meet up.

Both assured the other they would, and it was something Harry looked forward to.

He quite missed the surly Bulgarian.

“Come on, Harry,” Sirius urged as he put his coat on. “The match will be starting soon.”

Harry followed suit, adding a scarf to stave off the chill of the stadium.

Things were not particularly great right now with how the world was, but it would get better.

He would see to that; for Jonas, Daphne, and everyone else who had suffered for the actions of Voldemort and those that followed him.

(Break)

“You have been avoiding me.”

“I have,” the Grey Lady returned, her gaze remaining firmly on the horizon beyond Hogsmeade.

Albus had finally managed to locate the ghost at the top of the Astronomy Tower, and he expected he’d only been able to do so because she’d allowed it.

“Why?” he asked.

“Have you considered that I may not wish to discuss what it is you want to know?” Helena replied. “The walls have ears, Headmaster. I would have thought you had learned that by now. Am I no longer allowed to wallow in my own shame?”

“You are free to do as you wish,” Albus assured her. “Were time not of the essence, I would not press you, but as you can see, we have not been afforded such luxury,” he added, showing the ghost his blackened hand.

“Who is to replace you?” Helena questioned, unsurprised by the cursed appendage.

“Minerva will take my place, I expect,” Albus explained. “She may not be pleased, but she will do what is right by the school.”

“She was a bright student,” Helena lamented. “She will serve Hogwarts well, as you have. My mother would have approved of you.”

Albus offered the young woman a smile.

“Such words makes my time here all the more worthwhile.”

Helena hummed in response.

“You want her diadem,” she said simply.

“Not to possess it.”

“No. You’re not like him.”

“Tom Riddle.”

Helena’s nostrils flared at the mention of the boy.

“He promised to return it to me. Instead, he perverted it with his foul magic. My mother would be even more ashamed of me that I helped him.”

“Your mother was a wise woman,” Albus replied gently. “You are not the only one to have fallen for his charm. He always was exceptionally gifted with words.”

“He was,” Helena agreed quietly.

A momentary silence fell between them before she turned to look at him.

“He brought it here as he said he would, but he did not return it to me,” she explained. “He has hidden it in my mother’s room, an insult to her and me for being so foolish.”

“Your mother’s room?”

Helena grinned proudly.

“So many have happened across it over the past centuries, very few figuring out how to access the room. Tom knows, and a few others before him made use of it.”

“Where can I find it?”

“You already did, Headmaster. Several years ago before you were appointed to your position.”

“The chamber pots,” Albus mused aloud.

“The room provides what is needed by design. It is a magnificent piece of magic. Something I could never have done. I never was as clever or as gifted as my mother. She never said as much, but I know she was disappointed in me as a daughter.”

Albus shook his head.

“I do not believe that is true,” he comforted. “Rowena Ravenclaw was perhaps the most spectacular witch to have been born in the last thousand years. I expect her final regret was the rift that had formed between the two of you.”

“It is mine,” Helena murmured to herself. “Come, I will show you the room.”

Albus offered the ghost a grateful bow and followed as she led him down the stairs onto the seventh floor of the castle where it was much warmer.

“I always was rather fond of this tapestry,” he commented as he observed Barnabas the Barmy teaching a group of trolls to dance. “It has been here for as long as I can remember.”

“It was Salazar that placed it there,” Helena explained. “It was a gift to him from a family he assisted who was being haunted by a rather mischievous poltergeist. He hated the tapestry and put it here so no one would have to see it. He released the poltergeist on the castle when he fell out with Godric and decided to leave.”

“Peeves?”

Helena nodded.

“So many before you have tried to rid the castle of him, but they failed. Salazar made sure that only he could do it. I think it was a final stand against Godric. Peeves certainly did his best to irritate him at every possible moment.”

Dumbledore chuckled amusedly.

“There it is,” Helena sighed, pointing to the wall opposite the tapestry.

Albus frowned and the ghost rolled her eyes at him.

“Just walk back and forth past the wall and think of the room you need. It will come if you do it right.”

Albus nodded his understanding and began doing so.

‘I need the room that Tom Riddle hid the Diadem in.’

After passing the wall for the third time, a large, ornate door appeared in the wall.

“I wish you luck in your search, Headmaster,” Helena bid before vanishing through the tapestry.

Pushing open the door, Albus deflated as he realised the monumentality of the task ahead.

“Oh dear,” he murmured when he stepped into the room.

This could indeed take some time.

Nonetheless, he drew his wand and began making his way through the piles of broken furniture and other discarded items, some of which certainly piqued his curiosity.

He ignored them for the time being.

Before the night was out, he was determined to locate another of Tom’s Horcruxes, bringing them one step closer to seeing him defeated once and for all.

(Break)

The Dark Lord’s fury had been palpable when he had learned of what Lucius’s foolish spawn had done in Hogsmeade. Draco had neither sought permission nor approval of his planned venture and his efforts had lost one of Voldemort’s most valuable assets.

Lucius may have fallen from grace in recent months, but he had been useful once, and the Dark Lord had hoped he would prove himself such again.

Now, that would not happen.

Draco had been punished most severely for his transgression, and according to Bella, still did even further than anticipated.

The thought brought a smirk to his lips.

Despite Potter having been the one to administer it, the fool’s continued suffering brought him much joy.

With Lucius dead, Lord Voldemort had opted to leave Malfoy Manor in favour of his ancestral home in Little Hangelton.

The continued bleating and sobbing of Narcissa had grated on him quickly, and he would endure the muggle dwelling to be away from it.

Still, he’d needed to consider the loss carefully before proceeding with his plans.

Rodolphus and Lucius had been respected amongst his ranks, and the loss of both meant his inner circle was dwindling.

Adding Potter’s efforts that led to him killing Nott, those the Dark Lord trusted numbered only few.

Voldemort shook his head irritably.

He could have done without so many important losses, and yet, Potter’s own gathering had not escaped unscathed.

Perhaps the only thing Draco had achieved was his small part in the death of Potter’s part-hag friend, though it was no consolation when measured to his own losses.

No, the trade was not one Voldemort would have made if given the choice.

“What is it, Bella?” he huffed as the woman entered the room.

Merely by chance, it was the very same he had put an end to his muggle line, and even now, he could vividly remember the bodies of his father and grandparents sprawled lifeless on the floor between him and his most devout follower.

“Draco seems to have taken a turn for the worse, my lord,” Bella replied with a bow, falling to her knees. “I couldn’t care less if he was to perish after what he did, but Narcissa… He is all she has left.”

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes.

Draco had proven himself a bigger fool when he had chosen his father’s life over his mother’s.

Did he truly expect Potter to be honourable enough to accept his choice?

Voldemort grudgingly respected the ruthlessness his foe had demonstrated.

It was exactly what he would have done, even if it was an odd notion to admire Potter for anything.

He frowned at the thought before shifting his attention back to the kneeling Bellatrix.

“Draco deserves nothing less than what he is experiencing.”

Bellatrix nodded as she stood.

“You are right, my lord,” she replied before turning and heading towards the door.

Voldemort released a deep breath.

He was tired of the badgering and interruptions, and he could not deny he was curious as to what Potter had done to Draco.

The memories he had reviewed several times had shown nothing evident.

Potter had only touched Draco with the tip of his wand as he’d released him, and only a few days later, he had become rather ill.

Ever since, he’d slowly deteriorated, and was constantly being fed a concoction of Dreamless Sleep and Pain-relief potions, both of which were highly addictive.

“Very well,” he sighed as he swept across the room. “I will see the boy.”

It was not out of sympathy that he did so, but only to sate the curiosity he felt.

Bellatrix offered him a grateful nod and the two of them vanished from the Riddle home, arriving at Malfoy Manor only a moment later.

The home remained full to capacity with his followers, many of whom having been publicly outed by Wormtail during his trial.

It was quite the blow to the movement.

The Dark Lord no longer had eyes and ears within the Ministry, which meant that he was blind to what his enemy was planning.

With Cassiopeia Black as Minister, that was all but a disaster.

“He is just in here, my lord,” Bellatrix whispered after she had led him into the family wing of the manor.

As expected, Narcissa was seated next to the bed, the bags under her eyes speaking volumes of how little she had slept recently. They were bloodshot too from the tears she had spilled for the son that volunteered her life to save his own.

The mere sight of Draco sickened the Dark Lord.

Lucius had a proclivity towards cowardice, but his offspring was the very, unwavering definition of the word.

“Thank you for coming, my lord,” Narcissa whispered as she stood.

My lord?

The woman had never deigned to join his ranks nor accept his mark.

He was not her lord but had been a tolerated presence at best. Now that it suited her, it appeared she was willing to subjugate herself to a degree, at least.

What choice did she have?

Draco was one of the most wanted people in the country after his antics, and he could not simply be taken to St Mungo’s to be examined.

The Dark Lord said nothing as his gaze shifted to the unconscious form.

Draco was deathly pale, and perspiring profusely, trembling like a terrified child.

“What are his symptoms?”

“When he last woke, he was coughing and vomiting up blood,” Narcissa choked. “He struggles for breath, and he cannot stand unaided. He is weak, my lord.”

Voldemort hummed as he stepped forward and peered closely at the young man.

It certainly seemed as though Draco was on his deathbed. He even had the faint aroma of it permeating around him.

Whatever Potter had done was most unpleasant, and the last of the Malfoy line deserved no less, as far as he was concerned.

Nevertheless, if the boy was to die, he would never hear the end of it from Bellatrix, and the Dark Lord found himself torn between tolerating the fool’s presence longer, or the unending complaining of Bellatrix.

Neither was preferable, but he could quite easily silence Draco.

Bella was not so easily subdued.

Releasing a deep breath, he placed the tip of his against the blonde’s temple and allowed his magic to work its way into his system, frowning as he met a powerful resistance.

The magic he encountered was cold, colder than anything he had felt before and he had spent many hours among the Dementors over the years.

No, this was something else entirely, something decidedly much more dangerous, and yet, there was almost a familiarity about it.

“This is old magic,” he murmured in surprised, questioning where Potter would have gained such knowledge and ability. “It cannot be undone so easily, if at all.”

“There is nothing you can do?” Narcissa pressed.

The Dark Lord had not heard her. He was distracted by the thought of where he had encountered this magic before, and his eyes widened in realisation as he stumbled forward.

For the second time in only a matter of weeks, a sudden bout of fatigue and breathlessness washed over him, and he struggled to stay upright, leaning heavily on the bed to prevent himself from keeling over.

“My lord?” Bellatrix questioned worriedly.

Voldemort waved her off as he attempted to steady his breathing; a difficult feat as the unfamiliar feeling of panic had set in.

The magic Draco appeared to be plagued with was something the Dark Lord had indeed encountered, though he had paid no heed to it at the time.

“I’m fine,” he assured Bellatrix as the worst of his sudden ailment past. “There is something I must look into that may reveal just what has happened to Draco.”

With that, he swept from the room and vanished from Malfoy Manor, returning to Little Hangelton where he made his way towards what remained of his magical lineage.

The Gaunt shack was as dilapidated as ever and was only being held up by his own efforts from years gone by.

It had been here he had first experienced the cold magic, but in his euphoria of having killed his muggle relatives and ignorance of such magic during his youth, he had all but forgotten about it, until now.

The sense of dread that had filled him at the realisation only became heavier as he sensed the presence of another having been here recently; a most unwelcome one at that.

“Dumbledore,” the Dark Lord muttered.

Voldemort truly was beginning to worry now.

Taking a calming breath and reminding himself of just how many Horcruxes he had created, he navigated his way through the defences he’d placed here with a hiss and, without preamble, tore the loose floorboard away.

It was gone.

The Gaunt family ring had been taken.

Swallowing deeply and fighting to retain what was left of his composure, the Dark Lord realised that he needed to check on the others, and with that in mind, he destroyed the shack with a wave of his wand before vanishing from Little Hangelton once more.

(Break)

“So, that’s that then,” Harry murmured as the ashes of what remained of the diadem blew across the floor of Dumbledore’s office. “It all seems rather anti-climactic.”

The headmaster nodded his agreement.

“It does, but I do wonder if Tom can feel when one of the Horcruxes is destroyed.”

“He knows,” Harry said confidently. “He may be unaware of what has happened, but he can feel something. I can. It’s an internal disturbance followed by a sense of foreboding.”

Dumbledore hummed as he tugged thoughtfully at his beard.

“It is quite concerning,” he mused aloud. “Should he come to know of what is causing it, he will guard the last one carefully.”

“Are you any closer to figuring out what it could be?” Harry asked.

“I have an idea, but not one I am certain of,” Dumbledore sighed. “Severus mentioned the rather spectacular control over his snake that Tom has. It is particularly obedient. Could you perhaps shed some light on the nature of such a relationship?”

Harry frowned as he pondered the friendship he had shared with Hector when he had been a boy and shook his head.

“Snakes are quite stubborn, and they certainly don’t follow orders given to them if they do not wish to carry them out. If he has complete control of his, it cannot be ruled out. He’s arrogant enough to have used a live vessel but I would not bet my life on it. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Even if one of his Horcruxes remained, he will be powerless to make use of it when he is dead. I hope he does discover what has happened. It will urge him to hide it well enough that no one will come across it by chance.”

Dumbledore conceded the point with a nod.

“Besides, even if they did, they wouldn’t likely know what to do with it. Only a special breed of moron who knew what it was would attempt to release the soul piece of someone vile enough to create a Horcrux.” Harry pointed out. “Our focus should be on Tom and his followers now. Enough of those have been destroyed,” he added, nodding to the sprinkling of ash that remained.

“You are right, Harry,” Dumbledore replied with a bow, chuckling as Fawkes and the thunderbird appeared in the room and began chasing one another around the office. “I might say, they seem to have taken to each other rather well considering they are usually quite independent creatures.”

“They have.”

Harry was not going to mention that the commonality between them was him. Both had worked together to save his life and seemed to have forged a bond of sorts between them.

“Have you given her a name?” Albus asked curiously.

Harry shook his head.

“It doesn’t feel right to,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe she already has one, but our bond is not strong enough that I have learned it yet. Did you name Fawkes?”

“No, I learned his name from Fawkes himself after we had spent close to ten years getting to know one another,” Dumbledore explained. “Even now, our bond grows stronger. It will be one of the few regrets I shall carry when I am no longer here,” he added sadly.

“How long would you say you have left?”

“Perhaps five or six months I expect,” Dumbledore sighed. “I would ask something of you, Harry, if it isn’t such an imposition. Fawkes will live on after I am gone. I ask that you, if he consents, of course, keep an eye on him. I do not know what he will do, but knowing he has another there will bring me some much-needed peace. He is fond of you, and your own companion already.”

Harry nodded immediately.

“Fawkes will always be welcome with us.”

Dumbledore chuckled as the two birds trilled and continued their game of aerial tag, much to the amusement of the two men.

“There is something that I have been meaning to ask you,” Harry said tentatively, breaking the silence a moment later.

“I am, as ever, at your disposal, Harry,” Dumbledore returned.

Harry deflated as he removed the Gaunt ring and placed it on the desk between them.

“I was wondering what it was like when you used it?”

The headmaster leaned forward as he eyed the ring and pondered the question carefully.

“For me, it was the closure that I needed,” he answered. “What came to me was not the sister I remembered, but an essence of her that I recognised. The stone does not bring back the dead as I expect Ignotus Peverell intended, but something of them can be summoned.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“Your parents?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Harry admitted, “but the more I do, the more I realise that I didn’t know them. I have an idea of the kind of people they were from what others have told me, and I am content with the impression I have. I do not wish to risk summoning them only to realise that I have been fed an idealistic perception of who they were.”

“That is a very mature line of thinking, Harry,” Dumbledore praised. “People do tend to idealise those that they lose prematurely.”

“So, you do not think it is a good idea?”

“I think that is your decision alone to make,” Dumbledore replied, “but I find that sometimes, ignorance truly can be blissful. That is not to say that I believe you would be disappointed in them, they truly were exceptional…”

“But neither of us knew one another,” Harry cut in. “They were gone when I was a baby, and I do not need the same closure you did. I accepted what happened to them long ago.”

“Then I believe you have answered your own question,” Dumbledore replied gently. “You live, Harry, and I would not see you fail to do so by clinging to a past you cannot change. We must look to the future, or we become obsessed with what has happened instead of the many wonderful things we have to look forward to. It took me almost a century to learn that.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“Thank you,” he offered as he stood.

“No, thank you, Harry,” Dumbledore returned with a smile. “For bringing me a semblance of peace,” he added, nodding towards the frolicking birds.

Harry chuckled as he shook his head.

“I expect she will want to stay a little longer,” he mused aloud. “If she becomes too much trouble, you will find that warm milk will settle her down.”

“I shall bear that in mind,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling merrily as he observed the creatures.

“Goodnight, Headmaster.”

“And to you, Harry.”

Placing the ring back on his finger, Harry took his leave of the office via the floo network, feeling unburdened of the question he had been turning over in his mind.

There would always be the urge to summon James and Lily Potter, but now, it would be easier to ignore knowing that doing so would likely do him little good.

He had grown without them, and though he would always think of them with the fondest of thoughts, that was all that they would remain.

They deserved to rest peacefully, and perhaps when Harry’s life reached its end, he would see them once more.

(Break)

The Dark Lord screamed in a mixture of fury and anguish as he threw the locket into the lake containing the inferi, burning the mocking note left to him by Regulus Black that explained what had happened.

His Horcrux was gone!

It would not be so disastrous if he could account for any of the others, but with Malfoy Manor already being turned upside down and Bellatrix nursing the severe wounds she had been left with for her own foolishness, Lord Voldemort held out little hope.

He took a calming breath as he took stock.

The ring, locket, and cup were undoubtedly gone, and the diary was currently missing.

Narcissa fearfully assured him that she would check all of the hidden rooms in the house for it, but the Dark Lord had already concluded that it was gone.

Having walked through every corridor and entering every room in the house, he had felt nothing of himself anywhere.

Had the diary been present, he would have, and his only hope for it to be recovered relied on Narcissa finding it in the Malfoy vault at Gringotts.

No, Lucius would not have hidden it there, not when his home was a veritable Aladdin’s Cave of dark objects that had never been discovered throughout any of the Ministry raids.

That left only the diadem and the piece he had gifted for Nagini to guard; the only one he could be certain was intact.

In only a matter of hours, his world had come crashing down around him, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he truly felt himself enveloped in fear.

It was unacceptable.

Every ounce of pain and suffering he had endured to create his Horcruxes had seemingly been for nothing, and in truth, the Dark Lord doubted he could make another.

The last of his creations had been a struggle to complete and had left him weakened for several weeks after.

With the current state of the war, he could not take such a risk.

What he needed, more than anything, was to secure what Horcruxes he had yet learned the fate of.

Nagini would have to be kept safe, but the diadem presented quite the problem.

With it being within Hogwarts, it would be the most difficult to access, but there appeared to be little choice in the matter.

The Dark Lord needed to know if it remained where he had left it, however, there was none he trusted enough to do so on his behalf.

Severus would be the obvious choice, but the man would likely know exactly what it was he held, if and when he retrieved it.

His knowledge of the Dark Arts was close to his own, and Voldemort could not discount the prospect that Severus was indeed an unreliable asset.

It was why he had kept him at a distance since his return.

He had spent too many years around Dumbledore to be trusted entirely, and certainly not with something so vital.

No, the Dark Lord would have to find a way to check on it himself.

He would need to ponder the matter, and in the meantime, hope that Narcissa Malfoy located the diary he had foolishly entrusted to her now deceased husband.

Narrowing his eyes at the basin that had once housed the locket, he destroyed it with a flick of his wand before vanishing from the cave, still unable to shake the sense of dread, despite his best efforts to reassure himself of his own immortality.

(Break)

Grief was an unfamiliar concept to Lucinda.

She had never lost anyone before, nor had she witnessed any she had grown with mourn for the death of another.

To vampires, death was something that was seldom even considered. Being immortal meant that the very notion was so far from their regular thought process that it simply did not exist unless someone fell afoul of the law from their own doing.

Draikon was a strong enough leader to ensure that did not happen, and the last time one of the clan had met such a fate had been decades, perhaps centuries ago.

Nonetheless, having now seen what grief was like for herself, she somewhat understood it.

Jonas was gone, and he would not be coming back.

Although the sentiment did not quite register the same with her as it did the others, Lucinda certainly felt something at his loss.

Worse for her, however, was how it had affected Harry.

There had been no laughter or smiles from him since, and she knew that he had slept little.

Lucinda had not seen him shed a tear, but she could see the pain in his eyes every time he met her gaze, and she found she did not care for it.

There was nothing she would not have done to rid him of it.

The past weeks had been dreadful to see him endure.

Lucinda had been there for him as best she could, often the two of them not saying a word as she simply held him. In truth, she did not know what to say, but she quickly figured out that her being there was maybe all he needed in that moment.

When she wasn’t with Harry, she continued serving as Cassiopeia’s personal guard.

The woman had been beside herself with fury at what had occurred in Hogsmeade and had promised that whatever action was necessary would be taken to ensure that it would not be repeated.

That very evening, The Daily Prophet had released every name provided to the Ministry by Wormtail, and overnight, many of the purebloods and the others that were named had gone to ground.

Still, the aurors had been conducting raids and rounding those up they could find.

One by one, Voldemort’s support was falling, but Lucinda knew it was not enough.

Those that were being captured were little more than the dregs of a very deep barrel, but progress was indeed progress, no matter how small.

She was pulled from her thoughts by a knock at the door, and as she opened it, she was taken aback by the sight of Harry, his look of abject sadness having faded since she had left him this morning.

He even offered her something resembling a smile, an expression she had not seen for several weeks now.

“Are you okay?” she asked tentatively.

Harry nodded.

“I’m getting there. I will be.”

Lucinda nodded, a warmth that had been absent for so long spreading through her chest as Harry opened his arms.

She fell into his embrace without hesitation and he laughed as she picked him up with ease.

“It’s unbecoming for someone of my station to be manhandled like this,” Harry sighed.

Lucinda raised an eyebrow at him.

“Out there you might be Lord Black, Lord Potter, or whatever other title they want to give you,” she snorted. “In here they don’t mean anything. You’re still the same annoying little shit I met on my first day at Durmstrang.”

“Annoying little shit?”

Lucinda grinned as she nodded.

“But I would not change a thing about you,” she murmured fondly as she placed him back on the floor and kissed him on the cheek, frowning as she caught sight of an owl perched on the other side of her window.

“Well, I doubt that it is for me,” she said, nodding towards the creature.

Harry scowled as he allowed the bird entry and relieved it of the note he carried.

Whatever the letter contained surprised him, and he nodded thoughtfully before placing it in his pocket.

“That is interesting he mused aloud, but it can wait until the morning.”

“What can?” Lucinda probed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said dismissively, grinning before scooping her up in his arms.

Lucinda narrowed her eyes at him, but her curiosity all but vanished as he pressed his lips against hers. Nothing else mattered more in this moment than the feeling of having him back again.

Everything else could indeed wait until the morning.