Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Garden Variety

Chapter 14

Garden Variety

 

Lucius's emotions war between indulgence and jealousy at the look of awe on Holly’s face. After all, Malfoy Manor has the same resplendence, if not more, as the Headmaster’s office, and yet Holly never gave any other reaction than polite boredom.

She steps away from Severus as soon as they have cleared the Floo - something that doesn’t go unnoticed by either wizard. At least she has done it under the guise of exploring the office.

They are greeted by portraits of former Headmasters and Mistresses, smiling faces furrowed by time and the fatigue of a life dedicated to young students.  

Lucius turns to Dumbledore’s desk, frowning when he sees that the older wizard is not there.

He is a little put out that the Headmaster is not here to receive them - he should have better timekeeping skills than this. This is, after all, the first time Lucius has set foot in the school as a teacher.

“Is Dumbledore often tardy?”

Severus throws him a look, twisting his lips to show Lucius that he has not successfully kept the pique from his voice.

 “Do you find the Welcome Committee lacking?” Severus mocks.

Lucius hitches his trousers slightly and sits on one of the visitor’s chairs, pretending to study the trinkets lined up on the shelves, his fingers itching to pick one up for further scrutiny.

“Do not touch,” Severus admonishes quietly.

Lucius straightens in his chair, almost goaded into responding childishly that he wasn’t going to when he realised that Severus is speaking to Holly.

“I wasn’t going to touch,” she scowls, making Lucius work hard to suppress the smile threatening to emerge. Odd how scowling looks cute on Holly but on Severus, it made him look like a constipated Nundo.

He smirks at Severus, who scowls at him in return, a juvenile action that prompts Lucius to bite back his amusement even more. Holly flounces over to Lucius, pressing herself against his side. He scoops her up and settles her in his lap, where she makes herself comfortable, with her back to Severus. Lucius rests his chin on top of her head, holding her close and throwing his friend another smirk.

Severus takes the other chair, giving them a dejected look before turning his face away.

“Does Mr Dumbledore have an owl?” Holly queries, looking at the perch near the window with interest.

“That’s for his phoenix,” Severus answers.

She doesn’t turn to Severus, addressing the perch instead, “I’ve read about them.”

 “His name is Fawkes,” Severus offers, hoping his daughter will continue the conversation, even if she doesn’t look at him.

“Like Guy Fawkes?” she asks.

“What guy?” Lucius repeats, confused, and Severus looks equally puzzled.

“Guy Fawkes. You know… Bonfire Night?” Holly throws random words at them. “The fifth of November? Penny for the guy?”

She finally deigns to turn in Lucius’s lap to include Severus in this conversation. Glancing between their baffled looks, she mutters “Useless” with disgust.

She pulls away from Severus once more by twisting in Lucius's lap, but this time with her back to his chest, a leg on each side of his thighs.

Lucius once again has to hold back his amusement. It’s rather sweet that she is trying to educate them about what he presumes is muggle history, worthless as it is.

Any further conversation is cut off by a clap of thunder and the sight of bright flames coming from behind Dumbledore’s desk.

Holly sits up so suddenly that Lucius has to clasp an arm securely around her.

“Whoa!” she breathes in astonishment as the Headmaster appears in a theatrical blaze.

Just trying to show off, Lucius thinks nastily and perhaps a little enviously. The old fool has undoubtedly impressed the impressionable with his dramatic entrance.

The phoenix Severus mentioned earlier emits a few warbling notes before settling on his perch.

“Apologies, gentlemen,” Dumbledore greets them, smoothing his windswept beard along his gaudy purple and orange robes. A travesty to fashion everywhere. “We are currently without a groundskeeper, so the division of his duties is still a… work in progress.”

Then, pausing as his eyes settle on an awestruck Holly, he comments, “Oh, and who might you be, my dear child?”

Though it is evident that Dumbledore knows who Holly is, given her obvious similarity to Severus, the fact is that Albus was there when Severus received his letter and that he had already written to the Headmaster explaining the retrieval of his progeny.

Still, Lucius obnoxiously thinks that the old man has to play the benign, doddering codger with unsuspecting children like Holly; his arms reflexively tighten around her protectively. Dumbledore darts a quick twinkle of his eye in Lucius’s direction, showing that he does not miss the gesture.

Holly presses herself against Lucius once more, looking uncharacteristically shy but unable to keep her eyes off the Headmaster.

“Albus, this is my daughter, Holly,” Severus introduces with pride, standing up from his seat - as opposed to Lucius, who stubbornly remains seated.

The gesture doesn't escape the sharp eyes of Dumbledore, who gives him a knowing look but still kneels down before Lucius, holding out his hand to the little girl.

“Hello, Holly,” Dumbledore smiles at her. “You can call me Uncle Albus.”

“ ’Lo,” she squeaks, reaching out to shake his hand.

Lucius is irritated by her awe and wonders what magic the old coot uses to inspire such a reaction.

Dumbledore flicks another perceptive gaze as if he has read his thoughts, and Lucius tightens his Occlumency shields.

“Is it -? Is that -? Is that your real beard?” She says this very quickly with the innocence of a child, then claps both hands on her mouth. “I’m sorry, that… that was rude.”

Dumbledore lets out a – fake – spontaneous laugh as if greatly amused by a childish delight. It is a good act, Lucius thinks maliciously.

“Oh, do not fret, my dear child,” he waves away her apology and hands her the end of the beard to her. “Why don’t you feel for yourself?”

Lucius wants to push the old man and his ridiculously long beard away from himself and Holly. She has no such compunction about touching the straggly strands of white hair.

“Did you use a spell to grow it?” she asks cheekily, then throws a look at Severus. “Or a potion?”

Dumbledore lets out another one of his pretend chuckles and leans in conspiratorially, stating, “It’s all natural.”

Holly, thankfully, lets go of the beard. Dumbledore gets to his feet with an exaggerated groan and holds his back as if it is aching him considerably.

“I’m going to sit in my chair for the rest of the conversation, dear child. These old bones creak and groan more every year.”

Holly nods sagely.

“My Oma used to say the same every birthday.”

The adults exchange sympathetic glances at each other, and Severus, imperceptibly shaking his head, makes a point of changing the subject.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, my dear,” Dumbledore greets her warmly, seating himself behind his desk. “Soon, I am sure, you will be a student here, so you can take advantage and familiarise yourself with the castle whilst you are here. It has been over a hundred years since a professor has brought their own child to the school.”

Lucius feels Holly’s withdrawal at the words. Even from across his desk, Dumbledore must have sensed it, for he looks questioningly in Severus's direction. The Malfoy patriarch does not need to turn around to see the pinched look his friend is sporting.

Doing well not to dwell on the moment, Dumbledore moves swiftly on, “I must apologise once again for my lateness, Severus, Lucius, or, as you are now known, Professor Malfoy.”

Lucius inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the title.

“The rest of the staff have already begun to arrive. Rolanda owled ahead with an unexpected delay in Norway but should be here no later than Wednesday. Hagrid is also delayed, but I expect him to arrive before the start of the new term. Apart from the two, everyone else is now in the castle. The staff meeting will commence at three pm this afternoon. Severus, you and Holly get settled into your quarters, where an extra room has already been allocated. Lucius, let me walk you down to your new accommodations and show you the classrooms you will be using.”

Holly pushes herself off of Lucius’s lap to allow him to stand and reluctantly moves to stand beside Severus.

“Can I come back again? Please? I’d like to meet your phoenix properly,” Holly adds wistfully, staring at the bird in question.

 

ooOoo

 

“Bloody hell! What the hell is wrong with that bird?” Ron yells above the fluttering of the owl’s wings.

Hedwig screeches and barks, beating her wings hard as she flies around the landing.

“HARRY!” Ron screams, protecting his head. Ginny ducks and shrieks as the snowy owl dive over them. Hedwig screeches even louder, angry for whatever reason.

“Maybe she’s sick of being cooped inside,” Ginny calls out, falling to the other side of the sofa. There are no windows down here.

A rush of sound comes up from the stairs leading from the kitchen.

“What? What is it?” Sirius is in the front, his wand aloft, ready to defend them. “Shi-”

Forced to cut off his cussing when Hedwig nosedives towards him, Sirius ducks away.

Harry!” Sirius bellows and then casts a shield to protect them from the mad owl. “Harry, dammit!

“What’s all the racket about?” Regulus yells over the screeching and shrieking from the top of the stairs. Behind him comes up a concerned Harry, who asks: “Hedwig! What is it?”

The damn bird lets out another series of barks and squawks, but instead of being irritated as he should be, Harry bursts into a smile.

“She wants to go to Holly,” the boy turns to Regulus with the broadest smile Ron has seen since the guard brought him from Privet Drive.

Ron feels a pang at the words. Since he moved out of their shared room, Harry refuses to speak about Holly, but it seems Regulus has become his new confidant.

“The wards have been opened for her,” the latter replies with a smile.

Open the door,” Harry orders but rushes down the stairs to do it himself.

They hear Harry run to the front door and open it to let Hedwig fly out, which she does after giving him an affectionate peck on his fingers.

“I’ve never seen anyone talk to their owl like that,” Ron shakes his head at his friend, stepping out from behind the table as Harry comes back into the sitting room.

“Can we come up yet?” Hermione calls from the hallway.

“Yea-” Sirius's voice cracks embarrassingly. He clears it, pink-cheeked and tries again. “Yes, it’s safe now.”

Having come up from the kitchen, Hermione, Luna, and the twins cautiously enter the sitting room.

Fred is the first to inquire, “What was all that about?”

“Hedwig wanted to go to Holly,” Ron responds before Harry does, but his bluntness comes across as a prelude to a family catastrophe.

Sirius, his wand still raised, has a confused expression painted on his face, and he looks around, searching for an answer to the question that arises: “Who is Holly?”

Ron is about to reply again before he catches Harry’s scowl, and his smile fades. He soon realises that Sirius has not been told about Holly at all.

Sirius's look of confusion slowly morphs to one of irritation and distress.

“Right,” he mutters, “I’m not allowed to know. Fine.”

There is a painful silence in which no one speaks, though they all look to Harry, who turns to Regulus.

Sirius lets out a sound that might have been a dissatisfied grunt and stomps off.

Hermione is the one who breaks the heavy silence, voicing hesitantly. “Is there any harm in telling him?”

Ron doesn’t understand why Harry hasn’t mentioned his … sister to Sirius. It’s not that big of a secret, is it? Sirius had treated Harry’s father like a brother even though they weren’t blood-related. So, he would have understood if Harry had done the same with a younger girl, right?

Ron wishes he could take back the words about Holly. Harry has recently returned to talk to Ron again, but he still refuses to move back in with him and Neville, and any slightest thing could break this precarious balance.

He is painfully aware he isn’t the most tactful of people, but he was only trying to make Harry feel better about being so far away from Holly. He wishes he was better at expressing himself, and Hermione agrees with Ron. He might have put it better. With everything else going on, did Harry really need the added burden of a young girl who was nothing to him? Besides, why is Harry not telling anyone about her if she was so important?

His parents had met her as well. They knew Iris had died and that Holly was left alone in the muggle system, yet they weren’t worried about her. Still, Ron knew better than to voice all these things to Harry. He doesn’t want to fall out with his friend yet again. Not over something so silly.

They will see Holly in a couple of years when she gets her Hogwarts letter. Harry will probably be Head Boy by then, though their brother and sister feelings will have faded after their time apart. After all, Holly will have been placed with a family who wanted her. And Harry will be a part of the Weasley family. He has always been like a brother to Ron, and he doesn’t see what all the fuss is about.

 

ooOoo

 

After leaving the Headmaster's office, they make their trip down to the dungeons in awkward conversation. Severus makes a stilted running commentary of the castle while Holly looks around at the portraits who shout greetings at her with more interest than she paid at the one’s Malfoy Manor.

Thankfully, they have not run into any other staff members yet. Severus does not want the headache of having to explain about his daughter on an individual basis, allowing Albus instead to announce her presence to everyone at the staff meeting, which will be held in just under an hour. Severus has never answered any personal questions in the past, and he refuses to begin now. Though his original intention had been to leave Holly with Narcissa and Draco for the final two weeks of summer break, he finds himself unwilling to do so. Over the last few days, he feels like he might have been making headway with his daughter, thinking their initial frosty relationship might finally be thawing out.

He doesn’t want to leave her with Narcissa when he can use their last couple of weeks together to improve their relationship. Especially after their previous conversation, in which he was unceremoniously told that she believed he would abandon her once more.

Shaking himself out of those ominous thoughts, he points out the corridor leading down to the Great Hall.

“That is where all the school meals take place,” Severus tells Holly quietly, leading her further into the dungeons. “As well as the Sorting Ceremony and the Leaving Feast that occur at the beginning and end of the year, respectively.”

On their way down, Severus points out the various classrooms in use and even shows her the entrance to the Slytherin Common room.

He debates for several seconds and finally decides to give her a tour of the Common room. It is a large chamber, even without the Space Expansion Charms, with a window that provides a view into the lake, though only various plants can be seen: no merpeople of grindylows swim past - not that they have a schedule of any sort.

“All the Slytherins congregate here after classes to do their homework or socialise,” Severus continues. “Unless they are using the library, or the weather is good enough outside to be outdoors.”

Holly has not responded to any of his dialogue, making him feel like an unwanted tour guide.

“The dorms are separated,” he points to the doors on the far side of the Common room. “Boys to the right, girls to the left. Boys are not allowed in the girl’s dorms, though the reverse is not true. Should any boys attempt to enter the girl's dorms, the threshold will bounce them back, and the Caterwauling Charm is set off. The dorm rooms stay the same for each year group.”

At Holly’s questioning look, which he takes as encouragement, he explains, “Draco has been in the same dorms since his first year. The rooms all have the same features, though, admittedly, it does depend on how many are Sorted into each House. Once a dorm is assigned to a year group, that is the dorm they will reside in until graduation.”

Apart from looking out into the lake, Holly expresses no further interest in the Slytherin Common rooms, though she does ask for a tour of the other House Commons at some point.

Severus eagerly agrees: anything to keep the communication going with his daughter. It is not without some pride that Severus shows off his classrooms and office. Unlike most of the other professors, who only have one or two classrooms, Severus can boast of five, the layout for each slightly different depending on which level each year group is at.

His NEWT level students, supposedly advanced students, have the bigger Potions Labs— one for lectures and one for their Project setup. The classroom is large enough to accommodate up to twenty students at the time, though Severus rarely has more than eight: in fact, he only accepts those who score an Outstanding into his NEWTs class. He sends up a silent prayer that this will be the last year Potter (along with Longbottom) will be in Potions. Severus does not expect the lazy sod ever to score more than an Acceptable.

They finally reach the part of the dungeons that houses his accommodation. Seeing the additional door added to his quarters, Severus inspects it first, with Holly close behind him.

“These are your rooms,” he then announces, gesturing for her to enter first. He braces himself, expecting the Headmaster’s penchant for garish colours to bleed over into Holly’s room and even though his expectations are dashed, he is no less pleased when he sees the Headmaster has still managed to have his way by decorating the bed in Gryffindors colours of deep scarlet and bright gold.

“I can request different colours for your bedspread if you are not content with these,” Severus offers, making a mental note to slip a potion that will make the Headmaster’s Sherbet lemons taste like rhubarb.

“These are fine,” Holly replies dismissively, looking around her room. “You’re going to send me away soon anyway. What’s the point?”

Severus holds back a flinch and does not argue, though he still wants to insist on changing the colours to something more tasteful. Something not… Gryffindor. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the small suitcase. Placing it on her bed, he reverts it to its original size with a tap and a non-verbal spell.

Holly immediately opens it and brings out her bag. It is one she had when he first saw her in the care home. Whatever it contains must be precious to her. She does not trust him enough to share her secrets with him. He cannot deny he has been tempted to sneak a peek inside but has refrained for fear of never being able to gain her trust should she ever find out.

“Let me show you the rest of the rooms,” he proposes, “then I’ll leave you to unpack.”

Holly reluctantly leaves her bag on her bed, following Severus to the sitting and study area. The walls are lined with shelf upon shelf of books of every variety, and the sight of them makes him think of adding some wards later today or perhaps the following morning to stop Holly from picking anything that might be dangerous for her.

For the most part, he does any marking in his office during the appropriate hours, and it is exceedingly for him to bring any homework back to his private chambers. He likes to keep his private rooms free of anything related to the student's work, and, to that effect, he has made this a place where he can truly relax and unwind.  He has a small desk organised to his liking only for personal research projects he is working on.

There are two small sofas, exceedingly comfortable, where he likes to lie down and take a nap (not that he will admit this to anyone) on the occasional weekend during term time, and a coffee table of the same size.

Severus has an ongoing arrangement with Herbology professor Pomona to obtain particular ingredients for potions for personal use. Many plant-based potions ingredients stocked for students in the cupboard come from Pomona’s greenhouses: in exchange for brewing tailored potions for her precious and rare vegetation, she provides Severus with valuable and, better yet, fresh ingredients not ordinarily found in apothecaries. For this reason, Pomona Sprout is a frequent visitor of Severus's. He also has his own little kitchenette, stocked with the basics. On the weekend, staff are not expected to attend every meal; there is a rotation set up for everyone to make an appearance every second weekend, so he likes to cook for himself on his weekends off. All he has to do is make the House-Elves aware of what ingredients he requires in advance.

The bathroom (shared) is sizable enough to have a separate shower and bathtub and the standard toilet and sink. Severus made another mental note to request a stool from the House-Elves, to enable Holly to reach the cabinet for her toothbrush.

After showing Holly his bedroom, the tour is completed, assuring his daughter she can enter whenever she needs him; they both begin to unpack their belongings.

With fifteen minutes left for the staff meeting, he knocks on Holly’s bedroom door. She opens it and steps out.

“Did you get everything unpacked?” he asks, more to fill the silence than out of genuine interest.

“Yes,” she answers shortly.

Since they left the Headmaster’s office, he has had the overwhelming urge to hold her hand as he led her around the lower parts of the castle but refrained from doing so, knowing she would rebuff him. Yet, he knows that if it were anyone but him, she would hold their hand and smile at them.

The walk to the staffroom on the fourth floor is made with a more awkward tour – they have walked past the kitchens. Severus points them out, but they do not enter the House-Elves’ territory. They have also walked past the Hufflepuff Common rooms, though he tells Holly that it is best to speak to Pomona before going in there.

They stop briefly at the Trophy Room, where Severus patiently allows Holly to study the awards. He wonders at her sincere smile as they walk away.

Sitting at his usual seat, the Headmaster is deep in conversation with Minerva. Lucius sits alone, spaces on either side of him, and Holly wastes no time walking towards the blond wizard, catching the attention of everyone present. Conversations break off as they eye the young girl they have never seen before.

Her resemblance to Severus is hard to miss, as well as the questioning glances that flit between the girl, the Potions Master and the Headmaster. Albus's lips twitch under his white beard, and his eyes sparkle when Severus sees the slight wink he aims at Holly.

Severus walks with dignity towards the empty seat next to his daughter, not looking anyone in the eye. Lucius stretches his arm out to receive her, pulling her close with a smile. Even as she plops herself next to him, he keeps his arm around her, uncaring of the eyes on him. Holly buries her face in his side, shying away from the looks she receives.

Conversation is slow to resume when Severus, crossing his arms over his chest, obviously does not intend to say anything - typical behaviour of him. Minerva clearly wants to say something to him but, distracted by Albus, is forced to turn away.

“Did you unpack yet, Uncle Luc?” Holly whispers once the attention is off her.

“I did, darling,” Lucius replies in a low voice.

“Can I see your rooms?” she asks eagerly. “Are they like the dungeons?”

 “My rooms are on the fifth floor,” he answers. “I unpacked my things, but I still need to shuffle some things in my office and classroom.”

“I can come to see you, can’t I?”

“Of course,” he assures her. “Right after this meeting.”

The rest of the staff gradually trickle in, all giving Holly a double-take as they enter. Filch is the last to come in, taking a seat next to Severus with a nod and a curious look.

“Welcome back all.” Albus begins once everyone settles down, and the attention of those present is on him. “I hope you have all had a wonderful summer so far. Please allow me to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Lucius Malfoy. I am sure he will be a wonderful addition to our staff, and our students will learn much from him,” Albus continues, gesturing to his left.

Lucius nods in acknowledgement, receiving a faint welcome from some of his colleagues.

Neither Severus nor Lucius miss the dark look Minerva throws in Lucius’s direction. No doubt Albus will be getting an earful later, though he probably has since announcing Lucius's position earlier in the summer.

“And let us not ignore the little darling currently hiding between Severus and Lucius,” Albus says with a smile. “Due to other circumstances, Severus's daughter Holly is now staying in the castle with us. I ask,” he raises his voice above the muttering, “that you all allow Severus his privacy in personal matters.”

It was a polite way of telling everyone to mind their own business whilst neatly bypassing announcing Holly’s surname. She refuses to take on his name. Severus does not doubt that they all have questions. Though he is a private person, rarely indulging in personal conversations, a daughter is hard to hide, especially since he spends most of his Christmas and Easter breaks in the castle. If Severus is ever away, it might be a day or two over the Christmas holidays to spend with the Malfoys; he does not even visit his father, except perhaps once a year during summer break. This summer is an unfortunate exception.

At Albus’s prompting, Holly issues a polite and shy greeting and receives a warm one in return.  

Curiosity is satisfied for the time being; they all turn their attention back to Albus, who continues making announcements about upcoming changes to the castle and last-minute details.

The meeting ends after almost ninety soporific minutes. Holly looks like she could fall asleep but manages to stay awake because Lucius has the foresight of bringing parchment and writing implements for her to use. He makes notes, to begin with, with an attitude that reminds Severus of an impatient Hermione Granger ready to impress her peers, but towards the end of the meeting resembles Ron Weasley when he cannot be bothered anymore. Severus has better sense than sharing either of these insights with his friend.

Though he does not show it, Severus is annoyed that he didn’t bring something to keep his daughter occupied. He did not even think that a nine-year-old would be able to sit through an adult meeting that even Trelawney and Babbling cannot stay awake through.  He is already failing as a father.

“Your handwriting is quite legible, considering you’ve only been using a quill for the last month,” Lucius comments, studying the parchment with a smile.

“I prefer fountain pens,” Holly scowls. “They’re not messy like quills.”

She has somehow managed to get the ink down to her wrist. Lucius fishes a  handkerchief from his pocket, wets it with an Aguamenti from his wand and cleans her hands gently. Severus has to hold back a scowl at the action: he was about to do that himself.

“It is a skill worth learning, my darling,” Lucius chides gently.

“For old people,” Holly pouts. “Where’s the progression?”

Albus, having lingered as he usually does, laughs at the comment.

“Indeed, my dear,” he agrees, still chuckling away.

Then, he pulls out a school map from inside his robes, handing it off to Holly. Apart from them, Minerva is the only one left of the teachers.

“I am sure your father and uncle will give you a tour of the school, but I thought perhaps you might like a map until you familiarise yourself with the castle; this might be useful.”

“Thank you, sir,” Holly whispers, cautiously darting forward to reach for it before returning to Lucius’s side. She smiles at Minerva and Albus as she leaves with the two Slytherins.

Lucius takes them to his quarters first, where Holly shows much more interest in the layout, exclaiming over the office, which is emptier than Severus’s. At least Severus has interesting things lining in his office!

He feels equal parts resentful and grateful when Lucius takes pity and allows Severus to provide a tour of the rest of the castle. As well, he should, given he has barely left it since he was eleven years old.  

They make a trip to the Owlery, where Holly spends an inordinate amount of time with the school owls, though Artemis, whom Lucius sent ahead as they were having breakfast, gets a little jealous. Severus does not understand Holly’s fascination with owls. Likewise, they seem to flock to the little girl as well.

 

ooOoo

 

Harry is partnered with George as they both do clapping push-ups, competing with Fred and Neville. The other two are in the lead by five push-ups, and Harry knows he and his partner will lose as fatigue has set in for both of them.

“It smells like sweat in here,” Hermione complains, wrinkling her nose. She is sitting as usual, away from them, with an open book on her lap.

“You don’t have to be here,” Ron points out snarkily, though he is red in the face and huffing, having collapsed after his sit-ups.

Harry agrees with Ron’s words, blunt as they are. They are in one of the dungeons that Regulus has allowed them to use for workouts since all the rooms upstairs are occupied except for those on the lower levels. The whole room is filled with various weights, dumbells and other equipment that Lucius Malfoy bought on his excursion to the Muggle world with Holly, and even Harry was surprised by the number of items he passed to Regulus. They have many skipping ropes, hula hoops and other items that Mr Weasley has unwrapped with delight. Harry spent a day in equal parts amusement and exasperation, showing the older wizard how several of them worked.

The twins and Ron were amazed, however, by Bill’s enthusiasm. Early in the morning, before going to work, or late in the evening, after his return, Bill could be found in the Training room, as it was commonly dubbed, intent on working on his footwork.

Sirius, Tonks and the others would find satisfaction in trying to trip him up with jinxes or hexes as he skipped away. Tonks, despite her clumsiness, did quite well, but it was obvious that it was Harry the best at it, mainly because he’d been using a skipping rope since he was nine years old.

“We’ve been working hard, Hermione,” Fred grunts, holding his push-up position.

From his peripheral vision, Harry can see the boy’s arms trembling from the effort. He believes the twins only kept up with their physical workouts because it improved their strength and stamina on the Quidditch team. Even though Quidditch was cancelled due to the Triwizard Tournament last year, the other members of the team surprised him by asking him to lead the physical sessions so they could keep in shape for the following season.

This year, no one knew who the Quidditch Captain would be; McGonagall usually selected the best candidate and informed them during the first week of term. Harry has his money on one of the Chasers.

Ron had joined them in their training sometime after the Tournament’s Second Task, hoping to claim the Keeper position, which had been vacant since Wood had graduated. Dean was the only one who joined them for general fitness purposes, rather than having any ambition to join the Quidditch team. Neville’s commitment was more intermittent, preferring to spend more time in the Greenhouses than anywhere else; however, in recent months, he slowly lost his pudginess.

Luna is on one of the workout mats behind Harry. He deliberately keeps his back to Luna, not wanting to be distracted by her stretching. Thankfully, no one has found out that he and Luna were caught in Regulus’s room, though Sirius and Tonks like to make a few jokes that the others look confused at.

A thud echoes in the room: Fred has collapsed mid-way through another push-up, and George picks up the banter.

“We have to keep our beautiful bodies in shape,” the latter groans, his playful smirk more of a grimace. The rivulets of sweat running down his face don’t help either.

Hermione looks at them, shaking her head.

“You can’t complain about the smell in here,” Ron grouses, between panting for breath, “when you have the rest of the house to read in and still come down here when you know we’re going to be sweaty.”

“Ah, dear brother,” George grins slyly, giving up and sitting back on his bum, “maybe our favourite bookworm just wants to see us hunky men take our shirts off.”

Hermione blushes violently. “That’s not true,” she denies defensively in the slightly outraged tone she uses when caught out.

“I think Harry would look good with his shirt off,” Luna inserts with seraphic calm.

Harry, who gives up when George does, turns to see her doing the wheel: her head is upside down, and her body is entirely lifted from the ground, supporting herself just on her hands and feet.  He is grateful his exertions have coloured his face red; otherwise, he would be blushing as brightly as Hermione, and for the same reason.

Fred lets out a muffled wolf whistle from his position with his face to the floor.

“Wooh,” Sirius comments, wafting his hand over his nose, “it really pongs in here.”        

“This is the scent of industriousness,” Ron jokes, “you lazy dog.”    

“Did Hermione read you the dictionary,” Sirius mocks, not the least bit offended at the redhead's words. “And how am I the lazy one? Apart from Ginny, the rest of you are lying down on the job.”

The girl in question has not stopped her skipping, the rope hitting the floor rhythmically with a swish and a thwap.

“Luna’s not lying down,” Harry points out, and they all look at her, still in the wheel position, looking relaxed.

“I thought that was the way Luna rests,” Sirius teases, and once again, they all let out a murmur of agreement. After, attention shifts to Neville, who starts coughing and stuttering.

“You alright there, Neville?” Sirius asks in concern.

 He wheezes, holding the bottle he was chugging from. “Drank my water too fast.”

“Are you joining us?” Ron asks hopefully, turning towards Sirius, who shrugs and claims he just needs to talk to Harry.

 Harry heaves himself to his feet.

“Right now?” His tee is plastered to his chest from sweat; likewise, his hair is sticking to his scalp.

“Maybe a shower first, smelly boy,” Sirius teases.

“That’s me done for the day as well,”  Neville agrees with relief.

“Meet me in the parlour when you’re done,” Sirius calls to Harry’s back, who raises a hand to acknowledge the instruction without turning around. Making his way up to his bedroom, Harry gratefully strips out of his manky clothes, dropping them in his hamper.

Twenty minutes later, freshly showered and in clean clothes, he wipes the steam from his glasses as he exits his room. He would gladly give up his glasses, wishing he could switch to contacts instead or for someone to invent a potion to fix his eyesight. Maybe he needs to speak to Fred and George about it. For a moment, it occurs to him to ask Snape, but he immediately snorts at the thought, imagining Snape’s reaction to him asking for a favour. Thoughts of Snape inevitably turn to thoughts of Holly. Hedwig left three days ago and still hasn’t returned. Harry doesn’t mind Hedwig staying with Holly; he just wishes to have some news about her. Dumbledore sent Regulus off on a mission the day after the owl left. Regulus didn’t say how long he would be away, but he packed for a lengthy trip.

Harry has no one to visit Holly on his behalf. Regulus told him that Snape and Lucius Malfoy had left for Hogwarts, which is why the elder Malfoy allowed Hedwig into the Manor in the first place, so that Snape wouldn’t get suspicious about Hedwig visiting Holly. He knew it was inevitable that Snape would find out about the two of them one day, but for now, they are just delaying the explosion they knew would come.

Harry walks into the parlour where Sirius is already waiting for him, looking as excited as a puppy.

“I have news,” he beams when he lays eyes on Harry, whose eyes sparkle with interest.

“Dumbledore finally gave me an assignment,” Sirius blurts excitedly. “Sit, sit.”

Harry smiles at Sirius’s excitement. He’s happy for the other man. Grimmauld Place is quite a lovely house; Regulus has made it his own, which is perhaps why he has managed to stay here as long as he has, but the same can’t be said of Sirius, who loathes the house. And Harry can understand his desire to escape.

If Dudley gutted his home on Privet Drive and decorated it from scratch, Harry wouldn’t want to return to that house unless he could raze it to the ground and rebuild it brick by brick.  He still can’t bring himself to even think about moving into Iris’ house. Not yet. Not with the wound of Oma’s death yet to heal.

“Are you allowed to tell me what the assignment is?” Harry asks though he doesn’t expect Sirius to tell him.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Sirius answers regretfully, shaking his head. To his credit, Sirius does look apologetic.

“I’m surprised you’ve not demanded to get more involved,” Sirius says eventually, observing Harry.

He shrugs. He had been too occupied worrying about Holly, mourning Oma and Cedric, and worrying about the prophecy and its meaning. After learning the contents of the prophecy, Harry had a lot to think about. If he is honest, Dumbledore has been more open with Harry about the prophecy than expected. However, he believes that Regulus has been advocating for him. Harry appreciates the efforts the other man has gone through on his behalf.

“I should be dead,” Harry finally responds since Sirius seems to be waiting for an answer. His godfather flinches at Harry’s candour but thankfully doesn’t interrupt. “In that graveyard, when I was duelling Voldemort – my thought was to survive, and I remember going through the list of spells I knew that might have helped me. Even though I knew it wouldn’t work, I used the Disarming Spell. I honestly didn’t expect the spell to rip his wand away from him. I was just… buying myself time. I was lucky enough to be helped that night by people I never expected to be on my side,” Harry explains. “I want to fight.”

He gives his godfather an earnest look. Suddenly, his mind clears, and he smiles as if he has had a sudden epiphany. He does want to fight. Since hearing the prophecy, he has been in a horribly down mood, pulling away from those who love him, his friends, and even Luna. He has either been cooking, venting his frustrations in the Training room in the dungeons, or worrying about Holly and losing her to Snape.

“I just know I have a lot to learn before I can truly contribute,” Harry continues. “By the time you were my age, you and Dad had made the Marauders Map and became Animagi. I’ve not done anything like that.”

“Because killing a basilisk, fighting over a hundred dementors and competing in a deadly tournament doesn’t measure up to drawing a map and changing into an animal,” Sirius deadpans, earning a snort from Harry.

“You’re better than James and I were at your age,” Sirius says solemnly. “I know I’ve not been the best godfather, and I get jealous when I see you with Regulus, but I want you to know, Harry, that I’m glad you have someone to rely on. I’m glad Regulus is there for you. I’m proud of the kind of man you’re becoming, and I’m sorry I haven’t had a hand in that. I can’t promise I’ll never fly off the handle or let my feelings overwhelm me, but I’ll promise to do everything in my power to earn your trust the way Regulus has.”

“He helped you,” Harry blurts out as Sirius stands up.

Harry stands up as well.

“That’s what made me trust him. I wasn’t sure if he’d take you in when I sent you to him,” Harry admits. “It was a risk, I know. Even when I sent him that letter explaining everything, I wasn’t sure if he would help. But he did. Even though he had no reason to trust the word of a thirteen-year-old wizard.”

Sirius stares at him in silence.

“That’s why,” Harry concludes in a trembling voice, uncertain of his godfather’s reaction. “That’s why I trust him.”

However, Sirius surprises him by pulling him into a hug. Harry slowly returns the hug and is further surprised to feel tears seep through his shirt, uneasily reminded of when he saw Iris cry - when he told her he knew Holly’s father was her son. 

“It meant a lot to me,” Sirius confesses hoarsely, though his voice is muffled against Harry’s shoulder.

“Anyway,” he changes the subject abruptly, pulling away and clearing his throat noisily, as if he can’t take the excessive emotion, “I didn’t call you here just to tell you I’m leaving. I have something for you.”

 Sirius moves away, reaching for something hidden behind one of the sofas. Placing a lunch box sized on the floor in front of Harry, he taps it with his wand, enlarging it to the size of a trunk.

“This is for you,” he announces proudly with a pleased smile.

Harry looks in utter wonder at the gift before his eyes. “Is this the Traveller’s trunk I asked for?” he queries in amazement, running his hand over the polished wood.

“Better,” Sirius replies happily, a knowing smile on his lips.

At Harry’s questioning stare, he explains eagerly: “This is an advanced version of the Traveller’s trunk. Regulus and I paid for it, but Moody and Dora picked it out. Like Moody's trunk, it has seven compartments, and they’re all enchanted with wizard space, so there’s plenty of room in there. You don’t have to use keys to get into them, though: you just need to tap it with your wand and ask for which compartment you want.”

Sirius pulls out a thick booklet from his pocket and passes it to Harry.

“Here’s an instruction book on how to set it all up. The compartments are numbered at the moment, but you can name them whatever you want – that’s the name you need to be announcing. Dora and Moody already activated the enchantments there, so you won’t need to use your wand for spells, but you can use it to register its signature. Each compartment will also become a different colour, which you can choose as well. What else was there?” Sirius scratches the back of his head, squinting as if to concentrate better. “Oh, right – no matter how much stuff you put in there, it will always remain the same weight, and you can charm it to look like whatever kind of luggage you set it – if you want it to be a suitcase or a bag or whatever you find convenient: all instructions are in that book.”

“That’s… that’s brilliant,” Harry grins widely, his heart overflowing with gratitude. “Thanks, Sirius.”

He almost offers to pay for it but realises Sirius means to give this as a gift.

“Between this and my Firebolt,” he lightly jokes, “you’ll spoil me.”

Sirius looks at him with a strange expression reflected in his eyes - nostalgia for a past friend and love for a present son - and solemnly states: “You deserve it. You deserve everything, Harry.”

“Maybe one day, we can put this thing to the test. You know, when you’re free. We can go travelling together and cram it full of souvenirs for everyone,” Harry offers.

Sirius’s eyes shine with tears again, but he manages to contain himself.

“I’d like that,” he chokes out, emotion like a knot in his throat. He clears it once more and says, “I should get going. You have fun setting that up.”

“I will. And… thanks again.”

Sirius gives him a final hug and walks out, leaving Harry to examine his trunk once more. He is impressed: both Black brothers have exceeded expectations. He taps it with his wand, lets it shrink to the size of a lunch box once again, and takes it to his room.

His friends join him half an hour later, exclaiming over the trunk. Harry pretends not to notice Ron’s jealous expressions, biting his lips from feeling defensive: even if Sirius and Regulus hadn’t bought it for him, he would have done it himself.

He lets Hermione organise the study/library compartment with his paltry collection of books he allows her to see, but he doesn’t let her see the books that Iris left for him with Mrs Figg. Though there are more that Mrs Figg promised she would have delivered to Harry, these are the ones Oma had ready for him for the beginning of the new school year.  He will shelve those himself over the next few days, without his friends around: certain things hold a wealth of emotional memories that must be experienced alone.

An additional feature of the library is that if he wants to take a book, instead of climbing down into the compartment, all he has to do is open it up to the correct compartment and say the book's name.

He adds his workout things - several skipping ropes, a hula hoop, some weights, gloves and focus pads (the last two were gifts from Dudley on his birthday) and other paraphernalia - into a separate compartment. His clothes and shoes go into a separate compartment. He lovingly stores his Weasley jumpers and clothes Iris bought him that he has grown out of, into one of the wardrobes towards the back. He knows he should donate the clothes to charity or something but can’t bring himself to do that. Not yet.

He chooses to colour code the compartments instead of naming them, as long as he remembers which colours he’s assigned to which section, and also decides on the option to make the trunk look like a messenger bag for when he travels. At the moment, though, it’s perfect as a trunk for school. He already has a school bag for daily purposes, so he’ll only need the messenger bag option occasionally, considering that his fifth-year school books will be on display in his dorms for ease of use.

He pulls out his new DADA book, reluctantly impressed by the content. He knows he should mention to the Weasleys that Lucius Malfoy is the new Defence teacher this year but wonders how he can explain how he knows. He wonders if anyone outside of Regulus is aware; otherwise, Tonks or Moody would have kicked up a fuss by now. Mr Weasley must not know, as he would have told Mrs Weasley, who would have definitely raised a storm. Dumbledore would have had an earful about that, and there’s no way Mr and Mrs Weasleys would let that knowledge blindside their children.

Just thinking of Ginny makes him squirm with guilt. He feels awful about it, but thoughts of Holly stop him. He decides to make it up to the Weasleys by taking some cooking duties before they leave for school. Perhaps he can even persuade the House-Elves to let him borrow the kitchen when they return to Hogwarts.

 

ooOoo

 

 Regulus has the utmost faith in Albus’s wards, cast to keep out more than muggles.

It’s quite late in the evening. Stonehenge is deserted except for him and the Headmaster.

“You did not keep any in Headquarters?”

“No,” Regulus replies dryly, looking down at the loathsome collection.

It is Albus’s idea to use Stonehenge to cleanse the items in question. The items Regulus almost lost his life over. Though he had managed to find most without raising any concerns, he has only succeeded in destroying one. The first he retrieved. The locket.

The destruction of the locket with Fiendfyre resulted in the need to renovate his family home. After that, he was too wary of trying that method again, and so he spent the last several years trying to find alternate methods to destroy them.

For a fee, the Goblins had managed to destroy a second—the Cup from Bellatrix’s vault.  It had taken everything Regulus had to spare to persuade them to let him retrieve that Horcrux. He had not even been allowed to enter the vault. The Goblins cannot be bribed – but one can negotiate with them. Regulus had nothing else to offer to the Goblins to request the use of the ritual they had performed to cleanse the Hufflepuff Cup. He also had no choice but to let them keep the Cup once the job was done. He had not argued since he had no attachment to the obscure object. History was not something he was interested in either. It was better for the Cup to disappear into the caves of the Goblin depths.

Then, over a month ago, a chance conversation led him to share his knowledge with Albus. Harry had mentioned the diary and the Basilisk, whose venom could destroy the Horcruxes, so he went to speak to Albus, explaining exactly why he needed it.

It had taken him many years of research to determine the number of Horcruxes Voldemort had made, where he had hidden them and how to retrieve them. Now, it is almost over.

“Are these all of them you could find?” Albus asks, putting away Gryffindor’s sword into a scabbard.

Albus told him it was Goblin-made, and after Harry used it to kill the snake king, it was imbued with the properties of Basilisk venom. Regulus tries not to think of how that almost cost Harry his life - not very successfully.

“Do you think there might be more?” he questions sharply as Albus’s words turn over in his mind.

Between himself, Dumbledore and Harry, they have managed to destroy five Horcruxes. In front of them lie the husks of the Slytherin ring and the Ravenclaw diadem. Albus pulls out the ruined diary Harry stabbed with a basilisk fang, and Regulus the charred locket of Slytherin: both are added to the altar, testament to the hard work they are almost accomplishing fully.

“I am trying to ensure we have not missed any.”

Regulus nods gravely. He reckons it is now time to exchange information with Albus.

“He placed the locket in a cave. The only reason I know of it is that he asked for the use of Kreacher to test its defences,” Regulus explains.

He is still angry at how Voldemort left his House-Elf to die in the cave, suffering from whatever poison he was made to drink. Since Kreacher had been away too long, Regulus had been worried, and Voldemort had already come and thanked him mockingly for the use of his House-Elf.

Regulus had called for Kreacher, and his House-Elf, the closest he had to a companion, appeared in front of him, almost driven mad by the potion. From there, he had investigated in secret and realised what the self-proclaimed Lord was hiding - the depths into which he had sunk in the quest for immortality. The soul was the most sacred thing a man could boast of possessing. Voldemort had no respect for magic, despite his knowledge and powers.

After multiple examinations of the memories, Regulus had managed to create an exact replica of the locket, ordered Kreacher to take him to the cave, and forced his House-Elf to force him to drink every bit of that poison. The potion was so close to killing him, and if that wasn’t enough, the Inferi damn near did the job.

Kreacher was supposed to take the locket and leave. Those were his orders. For the first time ever, the Elf went against his orders and took Regulus back home. Even in his fevered state, he knew that he would have been killed for his betrayal should Voldemort find out what he had done. He never responded to any summons, and then he fell into a coma. Kreacher, for it must have been the House-Elf, had somehow blocked all connection to the Dark Mark. Using his own brand of magic, he had hidden Regulus from everyone, even his own mother.

Under Kreacher and Andromeda’s care, Regulus had been smuggled to Cardiff, to Ted’s muggle relatives. Andromeda had encouraged the rumours of his death, and almost every acquaintance was not too shocked by the tragic news. Lucius was too busy becoming Voldemort’s most loyal follower, his wife Narcissa too busy with her son to worry about her once beloved cousin. If your last name wasn’t Potter, then Sirius didn’t care, while he and Severus had drifted apart - not that they had been close to begin with.

He would have been alone had it not been for Kreacher and Andromeda. And if not for them, he would have died.

After Voldemort’s defeat, he had emerged, claiming the House of Black for himself after his brother's incarceration. He admits that he had been stupid to believe Sirius could turn against Potter, given the blind admiration and deep sense of friendship that bound him. He had reasoned that he had been hiding for the better two years. In his favour, he could tell that Sirius didn’t certainly act like an innocent man.

Once all the Death Eater’s trials were completed, Regulus provided his evidence, and the dust settled: more than three years had passed since Voldemort’s defeat.  

That was when he began to investigate in earnest. Instinct told him there was more than one Horcrux, and he had never been more horrified to be correct.

Bringing his thoughts back to the perilous situation at hand, Albus casts a barrier to keep out the chill that is beginning to set in. He conjures two padded chairs for them both, and, reaching into his bag of tricks, he pulls out a flask of tea, a pot of sugar cubes and even some biscuits.

“Oh, dear,” he comments, looking devastated, “I seem to have forgotten the milk.”

Regulus’s lips twitch in amusement as he takes a seat. Only Albus would bring a tea set to Stonehenge when their mission was to destroy dangerous Horcruxes capable of bestowing immortality on a madman who wanted to conquer and subjugate the entire world.

“I’m sure we can make do without,” Regulus replies dryly.

Albus pours them both some tea from the thermos.

“I beg your pardon,” the Headmaster apologises once they sit back with tea in hand. “You said you began investigating three years after Voldemort was defeated.”

Regulus takes a sip of his hot tea, savouring the heat of the cup in his icy hand. 

“I thought it best to start from the beginning,” he continues. He outlines his investigations, starting with Thadeus Nott, who seemed to be the oldest Death Eater in the circle. The main objective was to find Voldemort’s origins, school days, adolescence, and strange facts that seemed to concern him, such as the death of a student in 1943. Then, speak to Horace Slughorn, who had been one of the professors most attracted to Tom Riddle’s devious genius, his potential as a student and the mystery surrounding him. Regulus reminds himself to visit the man in person. There was no doubt he was reading the papers, so Regulus is sure that once he tells him that Voldemort is back, the other man will flee the country until the danger has passed. It had taken Regulus several dozen favours, tickets to Quidditch games, advice on shares, crystalized pineapple and an entire crate of the best fire-whiskey from his mother’s cellar before Slughorn was willing to talk about Horcruxes.

“I knew the Malfoys had one of them, but I wasn’t sure if it was presented to Abraxas or Lucius. Death Eaters liked to one-up each other and would take any opportunity to stab each other in the back, but none dared reveal they had received anything from Voldemort directly. Not when he had given explicit orders not to speak about it.”

Albus listens in silence, his eyes focus on something internal under his half-moon glasses.

“I didn’t know what the item the Malfoys had was. I only had suspicions it was the first created, which only solidified when I began to find the others. The diary,” he nods at the item in question, “was the first.”

Albus, cup of tea in his right hand, uses his left to move the diary to the front of the Horcrux line.

“The ring was the next,” Regulus continues after another few sips of his tea. “Riddle killed his muggle father to make this one. He was still sixteen, a few months after his first Horcrux. I found it at Gaunt shack. The whole place had more wards than a Pharaoh's tomb.”

It had taken Regulus months to undo each ward and get inside, and then several weeks before he broke the wards inside protecting the ring. The night he apparated at the graveyard to save Harry, he recognised the area straight away. He had spent too long in Little Hangleton not to spot the little village that was a stone’s throw away from Great Hangleton, where the House of Gaunt was located, near some woods.

Albus moves the ring next in line as if he is playing a chess game in which each Horcrux is a pawn, and Regulus’s narrator is the opposing player.

“Then the locket?”

“I believe so. It, too, belonged to the Gaunts.”

“And a copy of the locket is still in the cave?”

“Yes.”

No more was said of the necklace.

“Then the Cup?” Albus prods, looking at Regulus over the top of his half-moon glasses.

“Yes. He entrusted that to Bellatrix, who stored it in her vault. Luckily it was her personal vault rather than the Lestrange’s.”

“Are you positive that it has been destroyed?” Albus’s voice is sharp, but Regulus does not take offence.

“More than certain. Given what I paid for it,” he grimaces at the memory of the ferocious little creatures that were the Goblins. The only thing they didn’t ask for was blood. “They requisitioned the Cup after they removed the Horcrux.”

 And finally, Albus can ask the question he had been waiting for so long on the object he was most curious about. “How did you find the Diadem?”

Made by Goblins but enchanted by Rowena Ravenclaw, the Diadem was supposed to enhance the wearer's wisdom.

 Regulus smiles grimly. “The Bloody Baron.”

At this, Albus looks politely puzzled.“Slytherin’s resident ghost?”

Finding the diadem had been a complete accident. It had begun as an idle conversation with Nymphadora, who had told him about Gryffindor’s ghost, Sir Nicholas, and his death via beheading. The Hufflepuff ghost, the Fat Friar, had met the same tragic fate: had been stoned to death following some witch trials. This had led them to talk to the spirits of Ravenclaw and Slytherin, by far the most reticent of the four.

The Bloody Baron rarely spoke to anyone outside his own House but was quite open with select Slytherins. Regulus was not one of them, though Lucius had been. The Malfoy patriarch had unknowingly given him the next clue about the diadem. He had always suspected that Abraxas might have known about the Founders' history; Malfoys generally were quite good at keeping themselves abreast of past events.

Still,  Regulus needed an excuse to get into the school. He was not a parent, nor was he a school governor. Regulus requested Severus get him an audience with Filius Flitwick through some creative manoeuvring.

With delighted surprise, Albus asks, “Is that why you spent months meeting with Filius?”

“Well,” Regulus admits somewhat sheepishly, “it started with speaking about the Founders, but then we moved onto other topics. I prolonged my visits even after I spoke to Helena Ravenclaw. Partially out of guilt for using him, and because I genuinely became friends with him.”

Seven years after his initial visit to learn about the diadem, he still keeps in regular touch with the Charms professor.

“One day, Filius was lamenting about the changes in the curriculum that the board of governors were trying to enforce, and we began to talk about the ones he kept defending.”

Albus nods, looking intrigued.

“Then, I made a joke about the Defence position and how it didn’t have a staunch defender about its syllabus like the Charms Master. From there, we reminisced about the various characters,” he says the word delicately, taking in Albus’s rueful expression, “who got the job.”

“It was a difficult position to fill at the best of times. We had some excellent candidates whom the students loved, but alas, the Curse got the best of them.”

Momentarily diverted, Regulus asks, “Filius and I speculated that some of the less competent candidates were asked to take the position because you knew that the Curse would take care of them.”

  Albus raises an eyebrow at him.

“I heard Gilderoy Lockhart didn’t apply for the position,” Regulus pushes. “You sought him out for it.”

 The other sighs in answer. “The poor boy.”

“It was risky, Albus. Gambling with students’ education in such a way.”

“Severus has been diligently applying for the position of Defence professor for nineteen years. For the past eight years, his has been the sole application. For the last eight years, everyone who has taken the post have been the people I have sought, and I confess that I have been desperate on occasion. I had even requested Madam Bones for recommendations for retired Aurors; none of them wanted to teach. But we digress.”

Regulus leaves it at that. Lockhart was in St Mungo’s for the foreseeable future and unable to Memory Charm his way into more fame. He still believes Albus targeted the man for the same reason, probably some acquaintance whom Albus realised had gaps in their memory. It was undoubtedly a creative method of dealing with the man, but it shouldn’t have been done at the expense of the education of the students.

Luckily, Harry had Iris, who instilled a strong work ethic in the boy. 

“Well, after speaking to Filius and Minerva, I traced back to when the first Defence teacher left after only a year of teaching. Twenty-odd years ago. I didn’t realise until later that it was after your tenure as Headmaster, but I did speak to the former Headmaster Dippet - may he rest in peace.”

“Why did you not come to me?” Albus asks curiously.

“Would you have given me a straight answer? Would you have trusted me?”

Albus gives him a rueful look but solemnly admits, “I would have found your research suspicious.”

“I spent years looking for witnesses and evidence, piecing together Tom Riddle’s timeline. Albus, you were aloof. You played the congenial Headmaster, but we all knew you had favourites. And I am a Black. You didn’t help us. Maybe you didn’t want to. Sirius was a Black, but do you know how much you let him get away with just because he was a Gryffindor? Some good people were in Slytherin. People who needed help. I needed help. But I was beneath your notice because my robes were green.” Regulus exhales slowly, the gravity of what he is saying evident in the rigidity of his posture. “Sirius had tried to kill Severus. He tried to use his own friend as a murder weapon.”

He raises a hand to the Headmaster, who opens his mouth to argue, but is forced to close it again by the eagerness with which Regulus spits out the next words.

“I know you had to protect Lupin, who might have been just as innocent as Severus. But Sirius didn’t suffer the consequences. You thought Sirius was as guilty as everyone else did; don’t tell me that the Whomping Willow incident didn’t cross your mind when you thought about how you should have seen it coming.”

A pained expression crosses the Headmaster’s face.

“And you haven’t changed,” Regulus says viciously. “You still favour those who wear red and gold.”

“I try to play fair,” Albus defends weakly, but in his heart, he knows how much honesty is contained in those accusations.

“Then you don’t try hard enough,” Regulus responds harshly.

“I apologise.”

Regulus has to take a deep breath, avoiding reminding him how his apology cannot make up for decisions that innocent students have suffered from. This is not how he meant the conversation to go.

“Anyway,” he says, bringing the discussion back on track, “I realised Voldemort put the Curse on the Defence position and thought it might have been tied to the Horcrux. I thought perhaps he might have hidden it in the Chamber of Secrets - which almost ended my investigation. I had no idea where to start looking for Slytherin’s Secret Chamber and thought it and the Diadem would be lost forever. It never occurred to me, as it had to Harry, to ask Myrtle  - since she was the student Riddle had killed during their school year. Hopefully, it would have come to mind later, but thankfully, months down the line, a chance conversation with the Hogwarts House-Elves pointed me in the right direction. There’s a Room of Hidden Things, located on the seventh floor, which the Elves use to store broken furniture and such. It has a few different names, like the Room of Requirement or the Come and Go room.”

Albus’s face takes on a look of astonishment as Regulus describes how to access it.

“I believe I might have come across it a few years back,” Dumbledore confesses.

Regulus listens with open amusement to the Headmaster’s story about his request for a chamberpot.

“I found the Diadem in there. Took me hours. Filius thought I’d left. I had to smuggle the Horcrux out without him seeing, but I showed him the room as a thank you.”

Albus chuckles.

“That explains Filius’s preoccupation over the last few years. He has been researching the enchantments on that room,” he reflects. “I shall have to go back and take a second look.”

They turn back their attention to the objects in front of them.

“The diary. The ring. The locket. The Cup. The diadem,” Albus names them, touching each in turn. “That’s five. You said Horace mentioned the number seven.”

Regulus grimaces.

“I’ve spent the last fourteen years researching Riddle to hell and back. I’ve found no evidence that there’s another Horcrux out there. I can only speculate that Voldemort intended to make another, and I am hopeful that Harry defeating him derailed that plan. I believe that Riddle is now mortal. Not to make this sound simple, because I am aware it won’t be, but we just need to beat him now. I’m hoping we don’t have to involve Harry at all. Prophecy be damned.”

A dread fills his heart at the sorrow that fills Albus’s eyes.

“What?” Regulus growls.

“Harry is involved whether we want him to be or not,” Albus confesses.

 His mouth runs dry. “How?”

“I believe Voldemort did indeed intend to make seven Horcruxes. These we see in front of us,” the older wizard says, gesturing to the destroyed vessels on the stone altar, “are only the prelude to the fundamental ones. Severus, who was my spy at that time, informed me of the ritual Voldemort was preparing for that night before he travelled to the Potters. I believe it was the required steps to make another Horcrux from my research. His seventh would have been from Harry’s death.”

Regulus thinks furiously as the details of years of research, successes, and failures merge to form a bigger picture.

“Well, he might have prepared for it, but he was defeated. He was unable to follow through on his wicked plan. He failed. Harry took his body away from him. Whatever item he prepared is empty of his soul,” Regulus speculates, stubbornly clinging to denial.

“I believe,” Albus sighs, “that the ritual succeeded. Just not the way he had thought. Voldemort intended to use Harry’s death to complete his ritual, splitting his soul even further.”

“What does this have to do with Harry? Voldemort failed. Harry defeated him. The ritual was incomplete. We don’t need to drag the boy into this.”

Regulus is aware his voice is rising in pitch. The sorrow does not leave Albus’s eyes.

“Say it,” Regulus demands, defeated. He closes his eyes as if he can block out the words.

“Harry is a Horcrux. Lily’s sacrifice protected her son from Voldemort’s curse and caused it to rebound back to himself. It tore a piece of his soul and latched onto the only living thing in the house: Harry.”

Regulus, who has been familiarising himself with Horcruxes since 1979, already knows what Albus is going to say.

“His scar,” he whispers hoarsely. “It’s a connection between Harry and Voldemort.”

 Albus sighs heavily. “And there is only one way to extract a Horcrux from a vessel.”

Regulus snaps his eyes open, glaring furiously at the man in front of him and tells him coldly, “No! I will not allow you to sacrifice Harry - not after we have already forced him to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. I will find a way to extract Voldemort’s soul from him and destroy it without harming him.”

“Regulus,” Albus begins, but there is nothing he can say that can exacerbate the sense of panic that is rapidly spreading through Regulus’s limbs.

“No,” he interrupts. “No, Albus. I have spent years finding Voldemort’s Horcruxes and researching how to destroy them. I might have needed your assistance tonight to annihilate them, but I will not allow my boy to go the same way. Harry will live beyond the war.”

“I hope so,” Albus smiles tremulously, sincerity ringing in his voice.

He sits back down, unaware of when he even stood up.

“He deserves to live,” Regulus continues calmly, tears streaming over his cheeks. “I won’t let him die.”

“I hope you prove me wrong,” Albus replies.

I will, Regulus thinks fiercely.

They sit there for an hour longer, discussing various plans.  A part of him is surprised at how easily Albus discusses his schemes. Unlike most of the Order, who challenges the Headmaster and then backs down when the wizard explains his reasoning (as flimsy as Regulus believes it is), he picks his battles with Albus (in private) and does not give up until he is satisfied with their compromises.

Even Severus ends up giving in, though Regulus believes this is due to a combination of trust and guilt. Both emotions the Headmaster is good at manipulating for his own gain.

Regulus has never been beholden to Albus for anything. He is not an old friend like Alastor Moody: he has never gone to the man for redemption like Severus, didn’t owe the man his education as Lupin did, and hadn’t worked with him before as the Weasleys had. If anything, Albus owes him for allowing them to use Grimmauld Place for the Order.

Regulus is his own man. His loyalties are to himself and Harry. He may not be as powerful as Harry, Dumbledore, or Voldemort, but he has been resourceful for the past decade. He has accomplished more than Dumbledore in bringing Voldemort closer to mortality. Albus might have only had suspicions and hunches, but Regulus had evidence with the locket. Had he trusted Dumbledore back then, Regulus might have been in the same situation as Severus, beholden to the Headmaster for salvation. He has atoned enough since 1979. He has finally found his redemption. He is under no illusion that Albus is hiding much more than he lets on.

Regulus makes his stance clear to the wizened old wizard as they leave Stonehenge.

“I am not a leader, Albus. However, I am done being a follower,” Regulus says firmly. “You are a leader, so make sure you lead everyone the right way. I will help any way I can, but now, things have changed: my priority is Harry. Eileen was the only one who looked out for him, and I will carry on where she left off.”

Regulus packs away the Founders’ items whilst Albus takes the diary.

He needs to do several things, one of which is speaking to the Goblins. Perhaps a bargain could be struck with the return of the former vessels of the Dark Lord’s soul. They must have a lot of knowledge gained over the centuries. He also needs to begin making contingency plans for Harry, and Holly, given the boy would never leave her behind - not that Regulus expects him to do. Dumbledore might have promised not to return Harry to the Dursleys and leave Regulus to research the Horcruxes, but he is determined not to test that resolve. At the end of the school year, Regulus will take Harry away from everyone himself if he has to.

Plenty of people owe him favours inside and outside Great Britain: it’s time to redeem them.

He doesn’t return to Grimmauld Place. Instead, he apparates to Arabella Figg’s house in Surrey.

 

ooOoo

 

Holly borrows a piece of chalk from the Potions classroom and heads down one of the corridors in the dungeons, with her skipping rope in hand as well.

She carefully draws ten squares and numbers them, one to ten, to play hopscotch on. The squares are all different sizes, and her lines aren’t straight, but she still gives a satisfied nod at the result.

She realises then that she doesn’t have a stone or anything to throw on each square as she hops across. The chalk is too light and too small. She could try the bobble she uses to tie her hair up in a ponytail, but that’s even lighter than the chalk. At least there’s no breeze in the dungeons, though there can occasionally be a draught.

Her shoes are too big and heavy to use in the manner she wants. Then, she thinks about her socks. Plonking herself on the ground, she takes off her shoes and socks, which she folds and bunches together to give them enough weight. Deciding to forgo her shoes, she stands up at the first square.

Throwing down her sock on the number one, she jumps onto the squares with the numbers two and three, a foot on each square. Then four is by itself, so she hops on one foot, then five and six with a foot each, and so she jumps until she reaches number ten.

Turning around, she hops on foot for number ten and makes her way back. She collects her socks whilst still on two and three, then hops on one before landing both feet outside the squares. The chalk outlines are smudged, and her feet are dirty and cold, but Holly smiles. The game would be obviously better if other children were around, but at least she can keep herself entertained. She’s not really in the mood to read right now, anyway. And … Professor Snape said she’s not allowed outside without someone to accompany her. She’s already visited Hedwig and Artemis in the Owlery; they are both sleeping.

Holly continues playing hopscotch, throwing her socks on the next square. It becomes challenging when she throws her folded socks to the middle squares, five and six onwards, especially as the boxes are all different sizes.

“Should you be down here by yourself, lass?” the gruff voice she has come to associate with Mr Filch rings behind her.

Balancing on one foot on the number seven, Holly picks up her socks from the number six square and finishes her sequence on number one.

“I’m not allowed outside by myself, and everyone else is busy, so I came down here,” she shrugs. “I’ll clean it all up before I go.”

 Mr Filch gives the faded chalk outlines a considering look. “Not much left to clean up, is there?”

Holly gives the caretaker an impish smile.

“Then it’s fine, right?”

“What’s your Da doing? Brewing.”

She bites her lip to deny his parentage yet again. She hates when people call him her dad. He’s not. Dad is a strong word that holds the promise to love his child unconditionally and never let them go. The Potions Master has broken it. She knows others have noticed how she prefers to spend time with everyone else but him. She knows it hurts him, making her rejoice with cruel delight. He deserves to be hurt. He hurt her Mamma - he hurt Harry. He’s horrible, and just because he’s finally decided he wants to be a dad doesn’t mean Holly has to act like he is. Words are easy to forget, and she has already heard too many of them: now, she seeks only facts and stability. 

“Yeah,” she says, trying to hide the irritation from her tone.

From the look Mr Filch levels at her, she gathers she has not succeeded in hiding her feelings. Still, the caretaker doesn’t do more than give her a questioning look.

“Can I borrow your mop? I’ll clean the chalk,” Holly offers.

“Leave it, lass. I’ll take care of it. Pick up your things. Let’s get your feet clean, or you’ll catch a chill,” Mr Filch grumbles, expecting Holly to follow him. “These dungeons are always cold, and you'll make yourself ill.”

Holly’s lips twitch in amusement. Mr Filch likes to pretend he’s tougher than he is, but now she can see that Harry was right about the old caretaker; he was just lonely. She wonders if all squibs felt the same way. Mrs Figg lives by herself as well and with her dozen cats but often gives off the same aura of loneliness, and Holly wonders why that is. Mr Filch only has Mrs Norris, but he’s still alone, despite all the other adults around him.

She gathers her skipping rope, socks and shoes, pockets the chalk and follows Mr Filch to his office.

“Where’s Mrs Norris?” she asks, falling in line with the other man.

“Off catching mice,” he answers gruffly.

“Will she be back soon?” she asks hopefully.

“Don’t know, lass,” comes the snippy tone.

Holly is not offended. In some way, he reminds her of Tobias, sort of rough and bristly. They like to act like tough men, but underneath, they were softies once you knew how to handle them.

They enter the man’s office. Holly lets out a squeak of surprise when Mr Filch turns around, picks her up and sits her on the edge of his desk. She drops the things she is carrying onto the floor.

“I’ll bring you a rag to clean your feet with,” he tells her. Turning away, he moves to the sink at the back. She hears the tap squeak and the sound of water running.

Holly looks around the room with interest. She sees the filing cabinets rammed with stuff Mr Filch has confiscated from the students, several others lining another wall. Squinting a little, she almost giggles as she sees Fred and George’s names. Harry was right once again: the Weasley twins do have an entire filing cabinet to themselves. She wonders if it is full. She knows that this will be their final year in Hogwarts once school starts. How much room do they have left in there?

She sits on her hands, resisting the urge to peek in there. Twisting on the desk, she also spots the manacles, which are the only things in the room that are cleaned and shining. Holly thought Harry was just scaring her by telling stories of the caretaker having chains in his often, but she should have realised he was telling the truth. Harry had never tried to scare her with silly stories. Not like some of her friends in school.

Mr Filch comes back with a wet towel. Removing her hands from beneath her, she reaches out to take the damp towel with a “thank you”. Only to have her hands batted away gently.

“I’ll do it,” he growls. “Make sure your feet are properly clean.”

Holly tries to protest, but he seems adamant about doing it for her. He sits in the chair she thinks he makes the students in trouble sit in.

She jumps as the cold towel presses against her feet as he gently cleans her soles. He avoids looking at her as he goes about his task, while she stares at him quietly as he continues to clean her feet carefully.

“Do you have children?” she can’t help but ask softly,  though Oma always reminded her how this question was too delicate to ask even of someone one is close to. But there is something sad in the way he helps her as if he has already done it for someone of his own blood.

He freezes and darts his eyes to meet hers before reaching for her other foot.

“Used to,” he replies. “A boy.”

“What happened?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

“Died. When he was three. In a fire. His mother did an’ all.”

Holly reimanìins silent for a few moments and then whispers sadly, “I’m sorry,”

He sniffs and clears his throat. “He would have been your da’s age by now. A little older.”

“Thank you for telling me,” she blurts out to him.

On impulse, she hops off the table and throws her arms around his neck. He freezes, but she doesn’t move back. Slowly, he places his around her waist as well.

Then he pushes her away, gently, gruffly saying, “Daft lass. I just cleaned your feet.”

“Oops,” she giggles. “Sorry.”

Picking her up, he sits her back on the desk and cleans her feet once more.

“Where are your socks? You put them on now.”

“They’re dirty,” she complains as he spots them on the floor beside the desk. “I’ll just put my shoes on and go back to my room to change.”

She puts her shoes back on, hating the feel of them without her socks. Next time she’ll remember to grab a little stone from outside to play hopscotch with. Stuffing her socks into her pockets, she thanks Mr Filch.

“Do you want me to walk you back?”

“No, thank you. I don’t want to keep you. Can I come by again to visit Mrs Norris?”

 He nods. “Course.”

He doesn’t smile at her, though it looks like he wants to.

“See you later,” she smiles and waves at him before darting out of the office.

Holly frowns a few minutes later. She is lost. Maybe she should have turned left instead of right? She looks around with confusion. All the corridors look the same to her. With a sigh, she turns back, rooting in her pockets for the map Uncle Albus gave her. Then she remembers she has left it on her bed.

Maybe she should stay in one place and let someone find her. There is still time before lunch, so she might be waiting a while. She left her skipping rope in Mr Filch’s office, so she doesn't even have that to keep herself occupied. She didn’t even pick up her chalk.

Maybe Mrs Norris is down here. The dungeons look like they could be holding mice, and that's what Mr Filch said the cat was doing.

She begins peeking into the various rooms, hoping to see the old cat, but she only finds no dust in any of them, meaning they are kept clean. The House-Elves, of course. About to leave the room so she can call for a House Elf, Holly is startled by a faint rattling sound.

“Mrs Norris?” she calls in a low voice.

Maybe the cat got trapped in one of the cupboards. It happened to Mr Tibbles at Mrs Figgs. The cat was always chasing something and got trapped in one of the cupboards in her shed.

The rattle becomes louder the closer Holly gets to the back of the room. There are no lights here—just a faint illumination from the candles in the corridor through the open door.

Cautiously she reaches out to open the wardrobe door, then pauses. Is it a good idea?  She backs away, thinking maybe a House-Elf would help. Harry said they have powerful magic and are good at defending.

The wardrobe rattles harder.

She jumps back, startled, and then moves forward. What if it is Mrs Norris trapped in there?

She tries to open the door; it’s a little stuck, so she yanks harder to pull it ajar. Looking down, she expects to see Mrs Norris but only sees feet clad in familiar trainers. Following the legs up with confusion, past the knees, waist, torso; up and up into emerald eyes she knows so well and missed so much.

“Harry?”

 

   

 

 


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