Lost Souls
‘Nothing,’ said Sirius bluntly.
Dumbledore looked to Remus who shook his head.
‘A Horcrux,’ he began slowly, ‘is an object in which a person has concealed a part of their soul,’ he paused, looking at each of them in turn, his cool gaze so piercing, Remus couldn’t look away. The weight of what he was saying hung in the air around them. Dumbledore inhaled deeply and continued: ‘the objective of doing so being, of course, to preserve one’s existence, even if one’s body is damaged or destroyed.’
He paused for a few seconds and looked at each of them again, his eyes bright.
‘No,’ said Sirius, suddenly, breaking whatever spell had held Remus hanging on Dumbledore’s every word. He looked over at him, Sirius’ eyes were wide, stricken.
‘What?’ Remus said, what was he missing?
‘You think he -?’ Sirius was still addressing Dumbledore, whose hand was resting lightly on the damaged book.
‘I do,’ said Dumbledore solemnly.
‘What?’ Remus said again.
‘He thinks Voldemort survived the rebounded curse that night, because he had split his soul - created a Horcrux that meant that even though his body was destroyed, a part of him lived on.’
‘What?’ said Remus again. He was hearing the words but for some reason they just weren't connecting together in his brain. He blinked hard and looked at Sirius again, waiting for him to laugh and say they were joking, but he just stared back, his expression the same. He looked to Dumbledore, who was also watching him, his face neutral.
‘It is a difficult thing to comprehend,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘but it is what I believe we are dealing with here. The splitting of the soul means that Voldemort cannot be killed while the Horcruxes remain -’
‘Horcruxes plural?’ Sirius said, looking a bit sick, ‘More than one?’
Dumbledore nodded, ‘Although I don't know how many, I'm afraid.’
‘How many is possible?’ said Sirius, ‘Are we talking tens? Hundreds?’
‘Less than that,’ Dumbledore replied, ‘much less I would guess. The making of them is not an easy process. The act of splitting your soul requires an act of evil - murder -’
‘Well he’s done his fair share of that -’ Sirius began.
‘The full process is complex,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘splitting the soul also destabilises it, it makes it volatile, there are only so many times one could before -’
He tailed off, looking back down at the book in his hands.
‘So that’s what is in the book?’ Remus said, ‘Instructions?’
‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore, simply.
‘So why would Reg?’
‘Maybe he found out what Voldemort was planning,’ said Sirius, ‘Wanted to stop him.’
He looked so hopeful that Remus couldn’t think what to say.
‘Perhaps,’ said Dumbledore, ‘We shall likely never know, but it seems like too much of a coincidence that this has come up again when I already thought it likely -’
‘The diary,’ Remus said, suddenly remembering the strange conversation they’d had over icecream on that hot summers day, ‘Remember Sirius - the diary Harry talked about -’
‘Indeed,’ said Dumbledore, ‘Voldemort was careless with that one, he allowed it to be discovered, to be destroyed. It is part of the reason I’m sure there must be another - possibly more.’
‘Where?’ asked Sirius, sitting straighter, ‘We can find them and destroy them, catch him before he catches us.’
Dumbledore smiled sadly, ‘That is indeed the plan, Sirius, however I fear it may not be quite so simple.’
‘Do you have any idea where to start?’ Remus asked.
‘I do.’
*
‘You’re quiet.’
Remus looked up. Sirius was looking at him expectantly, as if he’d just said something, but Remus hadn’t been listening.
‘Hmm?’ he said, ‘Sorry I was -’
‘Miles away, yeah,’ Sirius replied, ‘What are you thinking about?’
Remus paused. What was he thinking about?
‘Nothing really,’ he said, ‘Kind of just everything, I guess.’
They were back at the flat. Dumbledore had given them the details of their next mission, but with the full moon in two days, had suggested they wait until it had passed. Remus had been taking his potion dutifully and had been feeling relatively well, but the evening had left him exhausted and he had crawled into bed as soon as they’d returned. Sirius had followed him, sitting propped up on pillows above him, his hand moving gently through Remus’ hair.
‘I was thinking about souls,’ Remus said, after a minute.
Sirius' hand stilled for a moment, but then resumed its path, light circles, round and round. ‘What about them?’ he asked.
‘Last year, Harry asked me about the Dementor’s Kiss,’ he said, ‘it was in the Prophet that that was what they'd do- if they caught you-,’ he stopped, he didn't know where he was going with this. ‘Sorry - that was a horrible thing to say, sorry, I don't really -’
Sirius’ hand stopped again and Remus closed his eyes for a moment. Idiot. He chastised himself. Why bring that up? He opened them to find Sirius sliding down the bed, throwing a pillow on the floor so he could lie beside him, face to face.
‘It’s OK,’ Sirius said, ‘I knew that, that's not news to me.’
‘I thought about it. A lot.’ Remus said, ‘About whether you'd deserve it - if you had done what everyone thought you'd done -’
He looked carefully at Sirius, but his face was unreadable. His grey eyes were stormy under his dark brows, but his forehead was smooth, relaxed, open.
‘- and I couldn't bear the thought of it. Of you not being you. Whatever you'd done, whatever mad thing you seemed to be doing last year, the idea that -’ his voice broke and he tailed off, closing his eyes again, tightly.
He felt Sirius’ cool hand cup his cheek, a thumb brushing the soft skin under his eye.
‘It didn't happen,’ Sirius said quietly, ‘I’m here. You saved me.’
Remus opened his eyes again, and took hold of a fistful of Sirius' t-shirt, pulling him in closer. He looked up at him, wondering if he should ask, if he wanted to know, if Sirius wanted to talk about it. He put his hand flat against Sirius' chest and felt the warmth and the steady beat of his heart. He was there. Had Remus saved him?
‘Does anyone deserve it?’ he whispered, in the end, not asking the question that had been on his lips seconds before, ‘The destruction of a soul is just - just so - so evil. How can anyone do it on purpose?’
‘Because he’s not an anyone,’ Sirius said, ‘he’s not a person. He is just evil. This proves it - he isn't human, he is something else - something that must be destroyed.’
The storm in his eyes was swirling now, and Remus thought, not for the first time, how strange it was that Sirius could look so frightening and so beautiful at the same time. He released the fabric in his fist and found Sirius' free hand where it lay, open on the mattress, and grasped it tightly.
*
‘Merlin, why does everything he sends us to do have to take place at the crack of dawn?’ Sirius whispered grumpily, as they trudged along a footpath leading out of the woods they’d apparated into.
It was very early on Wednesday morning. Remus was only 36 hours out from the full moon and the apparition had left him feeling slightly nauseous. He reached into his bag, and handed Sirius a foil wrapped package.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘Eat something, it might help.’
The sun was just beginning to rise, its rays emerging over the horizon, and they continued across the field, keeping close to the hedgerow. They climbed a stile and found themselves on a road at the bottom of a steep hill, there was a sign, old and rusted, that read ‘Great Hangleton’.
‘Bloody enormous hill,’ Sirius grumbled, crumpling the foil in his fist as he finished the sandwich, ‘Are you going to be alright?’ he added, genuine care in his voice this time.
‘Yeah,’ said Remus, gritting his teeth slightly, ‘Why couldn't we arrive closer?’
‘Dunno, low profile I guess. Reckon the locals are spooked as it is without wizards popping up all over the place.’ Sirius turned to look out across the valley below them and fiddle with the toggles on his waterproof. ‘Not sure how necessary the costumes were though.’
Remus smiled, ‘I quite like it. You look rugged and outdoorsy. Like you could build a fire and pitch a tent.’
‘I can do both those things,’ said Sirius, stubbornly.
‘I mean without a wand.’
They continued up the hill, the road wound back and forth to account for the incline, but Remus could feel his hip clicking horribly in its socket with every step. Sirius was half a step ahead of him, and he rubbed it surreptitiously and carried on, hoping they were almost there. As they rounded the last bend, the trees that had lined the road fell away and a wrought iron gate came into view, a handsome manor house rising behind it.
‘There it is,’ said Sirius, ‘finally.’
They followed the fence round, moving away from the main gate. After a while, iron turned to stone, and eventually they arrived at an old wooden door, set in the wall behind a sheet of ivy.
‘Alohomora,’ Remus muttered, and the door clicked open, allowing them to move through it and leave it slightly ajar behind them. An old stone cottage lay a little way to the left, the Virginia creeper that covered it making it glow in the dawn light.
‘He was the gardener right?’ Sirius whispered.
‘That’s what Dumbledore said,’ Remus replied, looking at the weeds that were strangling the roses that grew against the wall. ‘Doesn’t look like much was getting done though.’
Remus ducked under the blue and white police tape that was tied across the front door. One of the small panes of glass set into it had been broken and he carefully put his hand through, to open the latch from the inside. The door opened straight into a small kitchen, the window of which looked up towards the manor. Beside the sink beneath the window sat a rubber hot water bottle, the cap of which lay unscrewed behind it.
‘I don't think anything’s happened here,’ said Sirius, following him into the kitchen. ‘It all feels very - Muggle.’
Remus knew what he meant. There was no smell of magic, no weight to the air. He wandered through the door that led off the kitchen and found himself in a small sitting room, a threadbare floral armchair sat opposite the television, its arms tinged yellow with nicotine. A matching chair sat beside it, this one cleaner and much less worn. A tray sat on a foldout table, half a cup of tea, greenish mould floating on the top. Poor guy Remus thought.
‘Nothing upstairs,’ said Sirius, coming into the room, ‘Big house?’
They left the cottage and made their way across the lawn towards a door set in the back of the mansion - marked by a piece of police tape that had been knotted around the tarnished handle and ripped off carelessly, the stretched ends wafting gently in the morning breeze. Dumbledore had told them the place had already been searched by Muggle police looking for signs of the old gardener, and that that had turned up nothing, but then, they were looking for signs of something else.
‘Aperto,’ Sirius muttered, and the old door swung open, silent despite its age. They passed through it into a vast kitchen with a huge wooden table in the centre. A large range lined one wall, the plaster above it cracked and peeling and a speckling of damp crept down from the ceiling.
‘This plate is clean,’ said Remus, moving to examine the few items of crockery stacked by the sink. ‘Everything else is coated in dust.’
They continued across the kitchen to the next door. Sirius opened it again with his wand, not wanting to touch anything unnecessarily. They found themselves in the hallway, looking at the other side of the front door, at the foot of a huge staircase. The red carpet that ran up it was worn, unravelling at the edges where it had been chewed by mice.
‘There was magic done here for sure,’ said Remus, ‘I can feel it.’
Sirius nodded towards the stairs and they began up them.
‘Homenum revelio’, Remus muttered, as they neared the top, knowing no one was there, ‘Appare vestigium,’ he tried next, waving his wand arm out in front of him, extending the spell down the hallway.
The hallway lit up like a Christmas tree.
‘Woah,’ said Sirius, rounding the bannisters and heading towards the door at the end of the hall, which was now glowing with the silvery markings of past magic. Remus followed him, staying close, wand out. Sirius pushed the door gently with the tip of his boot and it swung open to reveal a sitting room. A large marble fireplace stood to their right, a high-backed armchair directly in front of it. The chairs partner stood further back, bracketing a matching sofa atop a Persian rug that was so sodden with damp it squelched under their feet.
‘Appare vestigium,’ Remus said again, and again, the room illuminated, silver markings appearing across the furniture, floor and fireplace.
They looked at each other. This wasn't an average amount of magic. This was something big.
‘Prior revelare,’ said Sirius and they watched as the ghost of a green light shot across the room from the armchair towards the door.
Remus followed it with his eyes and crouched down, reaching under the large mahogany cabinet beside him and groping around for a moment in the dust. He pulled out a dull wooden walking stick.
‘Well,’ said Remus after a beat, ‘I guess we know what happened to the gardener.’
They'd already known, of course, because Harry had told them. This set up in the sitting room was exactly what he'd described from his dream - the old man he'd seen had been the gardener - and it looked like it hadn't been a dream at all.
*
It was still early as they made their way back down the hill, but the sun was up now and it was warm. Sirius unzipped his cagoule and tied it round his waist, making him look a lot less of a convincing hiker, Remus thought. Still, they passed no one, and if they hadn't just confirmed without doubt that Voldemort had returned and Harry was channelling visions of him, Remus might even have enjoyed the walk.
‘Do you think they just vanished the body?’ Sirius said, jolting Remus from his own thoughts.
‘Maybe?’ said Remus, ‘I don't really know what the done thing is…’
‘Did Harry say he woke up? And that's when it ended? Nothing threw him from the vision?’
‘I think that's what he said, yes,’ Remus replied, ‘But we can ask him again.’
He looked over at Sirius whose eyes were firmly on the road beneath their feet, brow furrowed.
They continued down the hill, the village of Little Hangleton nestled in the valley beneath them. They would've missed it: the dirt track that curved away from the main road, just before the village, if it weren't for the stench of stale enchantments.
‘Is it a Muggle-repelling charm?’ Sirius said, peering down the rocky track at the thicket of trees.
‘Could be,’ said Remus, ‘amongst other things. This must be it, anyhow.’
They turned down the track, moving slowly, trying not to disturb the loose pebbles on the path or the overhanging branches of the trees that obscured it. Gradually a stone wall came into view, crumbling between areas that were reinforced by thick moss.
‘Homenum revelio,’ Remus whispered.
They were alone.
They moved closer, trying to make out the structure amongst the plant life that had overtaken it. Most of the tiles were missing from the roof, some lying shattered in the undergrowth and the glass was long gone from the windows, but the front door remained somewhat intact, hanging loosely on its hinges.
Remus took a tentative step forward and then another and then - what was he doing here? He turned, looking around himself in confusion. Why had he come here? This was a horrible place, he should leave, go down to the village or better, go home. He started back towards the dirt track, stepping carefully over the nettles.
‘Moony?’ Sirius’ voice called from behind him, ‘You OK?’
Remus turned back. When had Sirius got here?
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked him.
‘Huh?’
Why was he looking at him so strangely?
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Remus continued, ‘come on, if we don't get going we'll be late.’
‘Late for what? What are you talking about?’
Late for what? What was he talking about?
‘Late! Come on, quickly, I think it's this way,’ he marched back to Sirius, grasping his elbow and pulling him with him.
‘Remus, stop - stop!’ Sirius protested, ‘This is the place - we have to -’
Sirius wrenched his arm free and raised his wand.
‘Finite!’
Remus stopped, his back to Sirius, and turned slowly, eyes wide.
‘Wow,’ he coughed, shaking his head slightly, ‘thanks.’
‘Not just a Muggle repelling charm then,’ said Sirius darkly.
‘Apparently not. Looks like there is something here worth protecting.’
It took well over an hour. The misdirection charm Remus had walked into turned out to be the least of their problems. There were layers and layers of magic on the house and they had to strip them back carefully, enchantment by enchantment, testing counter spells and taking it in turns to inch forwards. Remus had always loved watching Sirius solve magical problems - watching him thoughtful, focused, his face full of concentration, but this one was so complex he had no time to marvel.
‘Surgito,’ Sirius waved his wand, slashing through the air in front of the cottage, ‘Dumbledore definitely undersold this,’ he grumbled, ‘Delere scutum-’
There was a sudden splintering of wood and a crash as the front door swung off its hinges and fell backwards into the hovel.
‘Protego!’ Remus shouted, pointing his wand at Sirius, who was pushed back a few feet by the force of his shield, ‘Careful!’
‘I’m fine, I'm fine,’ Sirius called, stepping forward again, ‘sorry, getting a bit frustrated.’
‘Delere scutum?’ Remus hissed, ‘I thought we said gently!’
Sirius shrugged at him, ‘Seems to have worked though,’ he said, taking another step forward, ‘Coming?’
Despite the confidence in his voice, Sirius approached the doorway hesitantly. He took the first step over the threshold, stepping up onto the fallen door, and then back out again, checking nothing would seal him in. He raised his eyebrows at Remus, who nodded, and followed as he stepped through once more. The room they found themselves in was a ruin, but must have once been a kitchen: an iron stove stood against one wall, creepers that had burst through the tiled floor wound round the chimney pipe and up through the rafters. Across the room, an armchair lay upturned, almost completely concealed amongst the nettles that had seeded themselves in the cracks, its original colour indiscernible.
‘Aparecium,’ Sirius whispered, turning in a circle, casting the spell across the room. Nothing.
‘Specialis reveleo,’ Remus tried, concentrating as hard as he could on the spell, pushing all the intent he could into it.
Thunk.
There was a small noise, somewhere. They glanced around the room and then at each other.
‘Do it again,’ Sirius said, ‘over there,’ he pointed to one of the doorways that led off the kitchen, moving to the only other one that stood, half collapsed, on the opposite wall.
Remus re-cast the spell, eyes scanning across the wreckage in the hovel.
Thunk.
‘Here!’ hissed Sirius, ‘It’s in here.’
He ducked through the opening and Remus followed, taking long strides across the room to catch up. They found themselves in a bedroom, a wooden bed frame collapsed in the centre, its slats scattered across the floor, the mattress and bedding long gone. A dressing table stood beside it, the mirror shattered.
‘It came from here,’ Sirius was pointing at the ground beneath the bed, ‘Can you feel it? There's something buried here.’
Remus could. There was a sticky, cloying quality to the space around the bed. It felt heavy, difficult to move through but at the same time as if it was sucking him in, like quicksand. He didn't like it at all.
‘It feels bad, Sirius. I'm not sure we should -’
‘We’ve got to,’ Sirius cut him off, ‘If it helps Harry.’
Remus looked at him. Sirius' jaw was set, his expression determined. He was right of course. They had to.
‘OK,’ Sirius said, ‘OK - move the bed, blast a hole in the ground, grab it and run?’
‘A thorough plan,’ Remus said, gritting his teeth slightly as he attempted a smile, ‘except the grabbing part. Whatever it is, I don't think we should actually touch it.’
‘Right, good point’, Sirius exhaled, his cheeks puffing out as he shifted his weight, spreading it evenly, ‘You move it, I'll blast it, you grab - not grab it.’
Remus nodded once, readying his wand.
‘Mobilarbus,’ he said. The bed frame rose, stacking itself in two pieces against the wall.
‘Defodio,’ said Sirius, holding his wand delicately, gouging out a small section of earth. The weight in the air intensified, Remus felt as if it was hanging off him. Sirius cast the spell again and again. Remus edged forward, craning his neck to see into the hole -
Remus pointed his wand, casting silently. A golden box rose out of the hole before them. The atmosphere was now thick, like treacle and he was finding it hard to think, as if it was leaking into his brain through his ears. He glanced at Sirius, whose eyes were fixed on the box and he flicked his wand again, a transparent bubble encasing it.
‘We should go,’ he said, his voice sounding far away, ‘something's happening.’
He put a hand out, grasping the sphere and shoving it into his pocket. He reached for Sirius, pulling him back towards the door. They dashed through the kitchen, clearing it in four strides, emerging out between the trees. The dark trunks loomed ominously over them, but they continued, pushing through vegetation which now seemed thicker and higher than it had on the way in.
‘Reducto!’
Sirius cast the spell from behind him, blasting through the undergrowth, and Remus surged forwards, finding himself quite suddenly bathed in sunlight. Sirius appeared, panting beside him and Remus grasped his arm. As he disapparated he glanced back towards the cottage. It looked just as it had when they arrived.
*
‘Fucking hell.’
They were sitting in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. For some reason, it was what had popped into Remus' head when he'd disapparated, but now they were here he was rather glad not to have taken the thing - whatever it was - back to their lovely flat.
The thing in question sat at the opposite end of the table, still encased in the bubble Remus had conjured. Sirius had sworn loudly as they'd barrelled through the door, and was now sitting with his head down on the table, arms folded protectively in front of him.
‘What do we do with it now?’ Remus said.
Sirius didn't answer. Remus looked over at him in concern but was distracted by the door to the cellar, which opened slowly to reveal Kreacher. He was moving strangely, performing an exaggerated tiptoe, as if trying to pass unnoticed, despite the fact he was only three feet away from them. He glanced up, catching Remus’ eye and looked away again quickly.
‘Half breeds and blood traitors,’ he muttered, ‘coming and going as they please, sullying the house -’
He stopped in his tracks as Sirius raised his head and opened his mouth, but Remus moved a hand swiftly to silence him - Kreacher wasn't looking at Sirius. His eyes were wide with terror, and fixed unblinkingly on the box. He backed slowly away from it, without glancing in their direction, back through the door, pulling it closed behind him.
‘That was weird,’ Remus said.
‘Not much weirder than normal for him,’ scoffed Sirius. ‘As for this, we take it to Dumbledore, soon as we can tomorrow. It's giving me a headache, I want it out the house.’
*
They apparated to Hogsmeade the next afternoon, and checked into a room at the Hog’s Head.
‘Sirius,’ Aberforth grunted as they approached the grimy bar, ‘long time’.
‘Indeed,’ Sirius replied, ‘How’s business?’
‘Much the same. Here you go, room 4,’ Aberforth handed them a large key and nodded towards the rickety wooden staircase that was mounted against one wall, ‘Will you be wanting dinner?’
‘Uh,’ Remus glanced at the filthy glasses that lined the shelf behind Aberforth’s head and then across at Sirius, ‘might be a late one, we've got to go up to the castle-’
‘We’ll eat before we go,’ Sirius cut in, ‘Thanks Ab.’
Aberforth inspected them for a moment through narrowed eyes, hands flat on the bar as he leant in closer.
‘This got anything to do with the note I had from Arabella?’
‘Not unrelated,’ Sirius responded, glancing around them. The pub was mostly empty but you never knew with The Hog’s Head. It was probably why Sirius was interested in staying for dinner - to have a look at the other patrons.
Aberforth nodded once, ‘Stews been on since yesterday. Serving up any time from 5.’
They climbed the stairs and unlocked the door to Room 4. The window was slightly cleaner than the ones downstairs and the autumn light shone through, making patterns on the bedspread glow.
‘Did you specify a double?’ Remus asked, looking at the bed.
‘Nah,’ said Sirius, ‘But Aberforth knows what's up. He doesn’t say much but he's no fool.’
Remus smiled slightly, wondering if he was more pleased at the implicit acceptance of the wild old barman or Sirius' casual reaction to it. He placed his rucksack on the rickety table that stood at the end of the bed and lifted the parcel in which they'd wrapped the golden box carefully out of it.
‘Ugh,’ said Sirius, ‘Keep it in the bag. I hate that thing.’
They'd had it less than 48 hours but it had been enough time to realise the golden box contained something deeply unpleasant. Even from within its protective sphere it had emanated a slow poison that made Remus feel sort of sick, somewhere in the depths of his stomach, so deep inside he almost couldn't separate it from the rest of himself. It seemed to affect Sirius differently, he'd been bouncing between unnaturally cheerful and extremely grumpy, snapping at the slightest thing whilst simultaneously insisting he was fine. It was Remus’ least favourite version of Sirius. It left him unsure of everything, wrongfooted every other sentence. They'd discussed opening it, but neither of them had been that keen on being any closer to its insidious contents.
At half past five, they headed downstairs, ordering a bowl of stew and a pint of anything from Aberforth at the bar. Their food arrived swiftly and in spite of the slightly concerning skin that had formed on top of the bowl, it was tasty and filling - vastly superior to the catering at The Toenail. They ate mostly in silence, the box in the bag under the table at the forefront of their minds. Dumbledore had said he knew how to destroy it. Remus wondered if he'd do it there and then, as soon as they handed it over. He glanced around the pub, it was still too early for most of the regulars, but there were a fair few people in. A tall figure, face obscured by a high collar drawn up over his chin, nursed a large glass of reddish liquid at a table in the corner. To their left two people in travelling cloaks, hoods pulled low over their faces were arguing in low voices. As Remus watched, one hood slipped slightly as the man gesticulated, revealing a mop of sandy hair and rosy cheeks.
‘Isn’t that -’ Remus began, ‘- I can’t place him but I recognise him. Wait don't look -’
He cast his eyes back down at his bowl, letting Sirius have a turn to look over at the pair.
‘Bagman,’ Sirius whispered, so quietly Remus had to read his lips, ‘he was a Quidditch player when I went away -’
‘Yes!’ Remus hissed remembering, ‘He was on trial, afterwards - passed some information I think. Nothing came of it.’
‘Hmm,’ said Sirius, darkly, ‘Wonder what he's up to now.’
Remus glanced the other way, back up at the bar where Aberforth was again cleaning a glass, seemingly staring into space, but Remus caught his eyes flickering across at the various patrons. He caught Remus’ eye and nodded imperceptibly.
‘Ab’s got an eye on it, whatever it is.’
They finished their drinks and left the pub, walking up the high street and turning off towards the station. Remus wondered if it was his imagination or if the bag was getting heavier as they neared the castle, as if the thing inside sensed its fate. He shifted it on his shoulders, reaching up to rub one of them.
‘Let me take it for a bit,’ Sirius offered.
‘No it’s fine,’ Remus replied, ‘We’re almost there.’
They reached the gates, and spoke briefly to the winged boars who granted them entrance to continue up the long drive towards the castle.
‘I feel like we could've taken a quicker route,’ said Sirius, smiling mischievously at him.
‘Yeah,’ Remus replied, ‘But unfortunately at the invitation of the Headmaster means no breaking into sweet shops and no murderous trees.’
‘Yeah all very serious isn't it.’
Dumbledore was waiting for them at the top of the stone steps. He greeted them pleasantly and led them through the deserted entrance hall, up the stairs and through the corridors until they reached his office. It was only once they arrived that Remus realised how tense the atmosphere in the room was, all three of them staring anxiously at the bag he had placed on Dumbledore's desk.
Wordlessly, he looked at Dumbledore, who nodded his assent. Remus opened the bag, carefully lifting the package and unwrapping it, folding the paper back to reveal the sphere. He released the charm with a flick of his wand, leaving the box exposed on the desk.
‘We haven't opened it,’ said Sirius, ‘But it's in there.
Dumbledore nodded again, staring down at the box.
‘Indeed,’ he replied, ‘Was it well hidden?’
‘It was, but it could've been more difficult,’ Remus replied, ‘It took the both of us, but - it made us wonder, if there's anything else protecting it. A curse or -’
‘Mmm,’ said Dumbledore, eyes still on the box.
‘How do we destroy it?’ said Sirius.
‘Mmm?’ said Dumbledore again, without looking up.
‘How do we destroy it?’ Sirius repeated, giving Dumbledore a funny look.
‘Ah, an eternal question,’ Dumbledore replied, raising his eyes for the first time, ‘So far the only known methods of destruction are fiendfyre and Basilisk venom. Luckily for us, Harry’s foray into Horcrux elimination means we have a blade imbued with such venom,’ he gestured to the long silver sword which hung on the wall behind them.
‘Great, let's do it,’ said Sirius.
‘Will he know?’ Remus asked, stopping Sirius in his tracks as he made his way towards the sword, ‘Voldemort. Will he feel it?’
‘I don't think so,’ Dumbledore said, thoughtfully, ‘I believe he is currently in an extremely weakened state and his grasp on these - pieces of soul - is loose. It makes it all the more pressing that we find them, before he regains his strength.’
‘You’re saying you think he will?’ Sirius said, his voice tight, ‘Regain his strength?’
‘I'm saying, the more Horcruxes we can destroy, the less strength there will be to regain.’
Dumbledore looked back down at the box. Remus followed his gaze.
‘Get the sword, Sirius,’ Dumbledore said, ‘Wands out.’
Remus drew his wand, as Dumbledore did the same. Sirius pulled the sword carefully from its fixings and returned to the desk, holding it ready before him.
‘Aperto,’ Dumbledore almost whispered the spell as the three of them stood, poised around the desk.
The box opened with a hiss that was so quiet, Remus wasn’t sure if he had imagined it. Inside, perched on a green velvet cushion, sat a large golden ring, tarnished and unevenly formed, with a big black stone mounted awkwardly on the band. There was a marking on the surface of the stone, something made of lines - Remus couldn’t see it clearly in the darkening office. Dumbledore bent lower over it, as if trying to see, his half moon spectacles sliding slightly down his nose.
‘There’s something there,’ he said quietly, ‘move the light.’
‘Lumos,’ Remus said, holding his wand above the ring, illuminating the symbol. It was a triangle, bisected vertically, with a circle within it.
Dumbledore inhaled sharply, and suddenly put out a hand, reaching towards the ring.
‘No!’ said Sirius, suddenly, knocking Dumbledore’s arm out the way and lifting the sword.
He brought it down hard, hitting the centre of the stone, and denting the front of the golden box. There was a cracking sound and a screaming noise filled Remus’ ears. He took a step back, throwing an arm out to reach for Sirius, pulling him away from the desk. He tripped, and Sirius fell with him, backwards onto the stone floor, the sword clanging on the flagstones beside them. He looked for Dumbledore, who was still standing, his hands over his ears, eyes wide, staring down at the ring.
It took Remus a few seconds to realise the screaming had stopped. His ears still rang with the sound and he rubbed them as he sat up, feeling Sirius stand up beside him. Sirius held out a hand and Remus took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He approached the desk cautiously, drawing level with Dumbledore and looking down at the ring. A great crack now ran down the centre of the stone, cleaving the engraving in two. It had lost the little lustre it had had before and did look strangely - dead.
‘Did it work?’ said Sirius, stopping to pick up the sword.
‘Sounded like it,’ Remus replied, ‘Albus?’
‘It certainly did.’
