Untouched
The air was cool but not biting. The wind was light, ruffling his hair, and the sky a rare shade of deep blue.
It inspired a sense of deep calm within him.
Harry couldn't remember the last time they'd had a day like today in late December. The clouds above had emptied themselves across the land for over a week and no longer looked grey and heavy, giving the city a brief reprieve from rain and sleet. Snow had not fallen consistently, but large puddles remained in the street.
It'd been a while since he felt so light. Though he tried to keep a tight grip on his emotions, something had always weighed on him, especially since Sirius had passed. Daphne's birthday and the following day left him sure there was hope for the future.
She'd had a great time, and Harry was relieved that he'd been able to help her get what she deserved. Tracey had been a big help, too, and as reticent as he initially was to have her staying with them, he knew it helped Daphne to have her friend back and by her side.
He'd taken Daphne out for a birthday picnic in the countryside to the south — far away from anyone who might recognise them. Though he'd offered Tracey to come with them, she'd surprisingly declined, not wishing to intrude on it. Before leaving, he'd secretly lent her his invisibility cloak so she could go out and get Daphne a gift. Tracey had insisted on paying him back, but he'd declined.
"A gift to her is a gift to me," she mocked, rolling her eyes. He laughed at her imitation.
They'd laid on the grassy hills for hours, just the two of them, staring at the clouds and making the most of the brief burst of sunlight that had come just in time for her birthday. Upon arriving home, they'd stumbled upon Tracey fiddling around with a magical trunk she'd found for Daphne.
The following day had still been lighthearted, but they all knew their lazy days were over for the foreseeable future. Daphne had mailed her mother a response, while Harry had attempted to adjust the wards to allow select pieces of mail in. He would hopefully find out if he'd been successful soon.
Harry wasn't sure what to do about Voldemort. Though he had not yet made a public move, he knew that could change anytime. Over the past year, the faint scar on his forehead seemed to have become slightly more prominent, and though he had a decent grasp on Occlumency, he could occasionally feel something. The sensation was strange, perhaps comparable to feeling someone poke him through numerous layers of clothing.
It worried Harry, but he'd not yet shared it with Tracey or Daphne, as he had no idea what to make of it. The only other times it had given him trouble before Fourth Year was back in his first year when he'd come face to face with Voldemort for the second time.
In his second year, he'd been different. Absurdly different to who he was today. Though sorted into Slytherin, his first two years were spent exploring every nook and cranny of the castle. He kept to himself within his house, as after a few initial confrontations, he was left alone. That served Harry fine, having gotten used to it in primary school. Malfoy had made sure of it.
But outside his house, receiving his father's invisibility cloak from Dumbledore had opened many possibilities. He'd never had such freedom as he had upon arriving at Hogwarts after living with his relatives for a decade. Late at night, he'd venture out often, exploring every inch of the magical castle that served as his escape from Privet Drive.
His grades were good enough from the start, as he no longer had any reason to hold back, nor did he have much else to do other than to study. He could only imagine the hell that Uncle Vernon would've unleashed on him if he'd gotten his Hogwarts report card.
The exploration had gotten him into trouble, though it was usually only a handful of house points. Dumbledore had not even punished him the few times he'd been found by the Headmaster.
The mirror, the stone, the Chamber; he'd found them all alone and had only survived by getting incredibly lucky. He never knew how he always ended up in such strange situations.
The summer after his second year was particularly significant.
Sirius had come for him a month after the year ended, having found out where he lived through Dumbledore. Upon seeing the bars on his window, he'd made a sudden decision, going against the wishes of the Headmaster.
If not for Sirius, there was a fair chance Harry would've never started his third year. Dumbledore may have intervened with his relatives, but the Headmaster had always seemed to blow hot and cold with him. He'd taken him aside after his encounter with Quirrel but had been largely absent the following year.
Harry still wasn't sure what to make of it. Any future communication with the Headmaster had always been through Sirius, who'd seemed just as puzzled.
He walked back up the steps of Number 12, his thoughts heavy and the pleasant weather feeling like a distant memory.
Upon entering the living room, he felt his mood lift again as he saw Daphne flicking through a book on the couch. She looked so at peace, her blonde hair tucked behind her ear, bright eyes focused on seeking out whatever treasures the yellowed pages contained.
The sight returned a light smile to his face, which she enthusiastically reciprocated when she looked up and saw him.
"What are you looking at?" she asked.
Her expression became partly sceptical, almost as if she suspected he was hiding some obscure joke from her or he was about to tell her that she had something on her face.
When he responded with "You," she seemed to flush and looked down, but Harry could see the pleased expression lurking beneath.
"Flatterer," she mumbled. "You're far too cheesy for your own good."
The following days were slow. There was no follow-up letter from Daphne's mother, which had Harry second-guessing himself, but he was sure that letters from blood relatives were allowed in, meaning that Tracey and Daphne could both receive mail.
None had arrived so far.
They were somewhat directionless, and Harry could tell morale had plummeted since the new year began. Tracey had raised the idea of leaving the country entirely, but she was not privy to the secrets he'd spilt to Daphne regarding Voldemort's connection to him. The split-second of eye contact he'd had with Daphne when Tracey suggested it told him she was in the same boat.
Harry had secretly been wondering if there was a way out for Tracey. He did not want her to be caught up in their mess, as she was as good as innocent in the bigger picture. The less she knew about him, the less danger she would be in if it was possible.
He'd begun to wonder if it had been right to take her along in the first place. Had it been a mistake? Would her parents have come for her and chosen their daughter over their side?
Daphne seemed to have mostly repaired her friendship with the girl, but Harry wondered if they were just setting up for a bigger heartbreak. Daphne had been through more than enough. Tracey had been, too. There didn't seem to be an easy answer.
They would probably be lighter without her, as bad as that was to admit. He wasn't used to worrying about more than one other person.
Harry clenched his hand in frustration, scrunching up a patch of the bedsheet against the mattress.
It was late at night, and he'd been trying and failing to fall asleep for hours. If Daphne hadn't immediately fallen asleep beside him, he would've gotten up and written it off as a lost cause.
She was gripping his other hand in both of hers, close to her chest, and he found it far too adorable to disrupt. The sight calmed him, and he let the linen slip through his fingers.
He groaned quietly as he felt another headache coming on. They seemed increasingly common, and he still had no idea what was causing it.
Sometime later, Harry finally managed to sleep, but his rest was troubled and fragmented. He dreamt of a black door, white tiles, a snake-
CRACK!
Something hit him in the face, and he jerked upwards as the blanket was ripped off him. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, trying to comprehend what had happened. Dimly, he heard someone shriek.
Daphne sat up against the headboard beside him, the blanket wrapped around her, mouth agape.
A wrinkled house elf with a dirty rag slung across his torso stared up at them from the dark floorboards below the foot of the bed with its big, tennis ball-sized eyes.
"Kreacher?" Harry asked.
"Lazy Half-Blood Master is awake," he croaked, hefting a sack off the floor. A metallic clanging caught his attention.
"What are you doing here? Where have you been?"
"Former Blood-Traitor Master ordered Kreacher to complete Master Regulus' quest with no exceptions. Kreacher is finished."
Harry looked at Daphne, who returned his sceptical stare. He could almost laugh at the sight; her blonde hair frizzled and sticking out in every direction, her eyes wide, and the blanket tucked under her chin.
"What is this… quest?"
Kreacher raised the sack higher and dumped the contents all over the floor. Harry felt a sharp stabbing pain in his forehead as soon as he did, like someone was trying to cleave his head in two. The sensation lasted less than a second as he dimly registered the items clattering onto the floor.
He opened his eyes again to find himself lying back on his pillow, staring at the ceiling. Daphne leaned over him, her messy hair nearly touching his face. When the ringing in his ears subsided, he realised she was calling his name.
"I'm alright… migraine."
She frowned, but he sat up and turned his attention to Kreacher.
"What happened? What did Sirius make you do? What are those things?"
There was a pile of items in front of him. He could pick out a silver cup and a tiara. Kreacher stared at him with disgust.
"Half-Blood Master must learn to ask one question at a time."
His thoughts were still chaotic, his frustration rising, and the headache he could feel coming on was not helping.
"Where have you been?"
"Kreacher has been finding things for the Noble and Ancient House of Black. Former Blood-Traitor Master promised Kreacher would be free if he finished Master Regulus' quest. Kreacher was not allowed to answer any summons until he had, and he did not have a master. He was serving the Noble and Ancient House of Black."
Even after the two summers he had spent at Grimmauld Place with Sirius, the house elf had never liked either of them. It was somewhat refreshing to see that things hadn't changed.
"What was your quest?" Daphne asked.
The house elf scrunched up his face, the already-prominent wrinkles folding in on themselves.
"Cursed Half-Blood Master is betrothed," he spat. "It is Master Regulus' quest."
"Explain," Harry ordered.
Kreacher glared at him again.
"Kreacher has gathered the precious objects of the Evil Dark Lord who killed Master Regulus. Kreacher begs his gracious Half-Blood Master for freedom."
The cryptic language was getting on Harry's nerves. Sirius had never told him about any sort of 'quest,' but he knew that Regulus had been Sirius' brother and had died in the first war. Every time he glanced at the pile of objects that Kreacher had dumped on the floor, his headache got more pronounced.
Something caught his eye, though — a black book with a hole in the middle and small lettering along the spine.
T. M. Riddle
"What are these objects?" he asked.
"Will Half-Blood Master free Kreacher to serve the Blacks in his own way if he tells him?"
Daphne looked on, concern all over her face. She didn't seem to have anything to add, but her wand was in her hand. He himself had no idea why Kreacher might want 'freedom,' but the old house elf had never served much of a purpose.
"I'll see."
"Kreacher has gathered all of the Evil Dark Lord's Horcrux pieces except for Master Regulus' locket."
Horcrux pieces?
"Where is this locket?"
"Kreacher keeps heirlooms of the Noble and Ancient House of Black in the nursery."
"Where is the nursery?"
The house elf huffed to himself, shuffling on the spot.
"Kreacher is getting tired of so many extra questions."
"Answer me," Harry insisted. "Please."
"The nursery is downstairs and across from the second guest bedroom."
"What is a Horcrux?"
Kreacher glared at him again.
"Useless Half-Blood Master does not know what a Horcrux is. Former Blood-Traitor Master was wrong. He is not a respectable heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Black."
"Answer me!"
"Kreacher has finished Former Blood-Traitor Master's Quest. He is free."
The house elf snapped his fingers and vanished.
"TRACEY!" Daphne called, staring at things on the floor.
BREAK
They discovered that Kreacher had dumped out five objects on the floor: a ring, a tiara, a cup with a scorched carving of a badger, and the diary.
It took looking up what a Horcrux was in a few books from the Black Library for the implications to set in fully.
"So Voldemort had these 'soul pieces'? That's how he survived until now?"
"That's what it seems to mean, Tracey," Daphne answered, flipping through a book so old that the engraved leather cover had been worn flat. Though she turned them gently, the yellowed pages crinkled loudly at the slightest touch.
It was now late evening, as they had spent the entire day researching Horcruxes and the associated dark magic. Most of it had been spent digging through the library, as information on the subject was scarce and fragmented.
"I have no idea how we can get rid of them then," Tracey muttered. "This is all so much, I had no clue…"
Harry looked up at her from where he stood, placing a dusty book back on a cobwebbed shelf. He was still undecided on her involvement with them. Did she know what it meant to be stuck with him and Daphne? They were all young and trapped in a near-impossible situation without external assistance. It seemed they were destined to fail. Voldemort's fixation on him meant there was no way out, and he'd known that for a while now, but this was entirely new to Tracey and even Daphne to some extent.
Her childhood hadn't been easy, though he wished it had been. He wanted to give her so much more yet found himself powerless. It was painful in a numb sort of way.
The black, stained floorboards groaned beneath him as he continued searching through the infinite rows of dusty books, his wand the only light source.
None of them had known what to do with the pile of what they now knew for sure had been Horcruxes at one stage. Upon closer inspection, they were all disfigured somehow, with cracks or holes in them.
It left him wondering what had happened earlier with his sudden, intense headache after Kreacher had tipped them out. He knew he had some connection to Voldemort through his scar; Dumbledore had told him that in his first year, but he didn't understand why it had reacted that way if none of the items contained a soul piece.
"Kreacher keeps heirlooms of the Noble and Ancient House of Black in the nursery."
"Daphne? Tracey?" he asked as he returned to the small desk where both girls sat.
"Yes?"
"We should check the nursery."
Understanding dawned on their faces after a moment of confusion.
Their trip to the room Kreacher had identified was slow, as the halls of Number 12 were pitch black at night. The shadows seemed to jump out of them, and even Harry was continually on edge, though he had lived here over the summer twice before.
Sirius had always joked about how the house was continually haunted by his mother, Walburga Black, even after her portrait had been removed. The wall-mounted candles were hard to light, but Sirius had never gotten around to replacing them. Windows were scarce and seemed reluctant to let sunlight in. Doors creaked when their hinges were recently cleaned and oiled. Even the light from his wand seemed dimmer than usual, and he'd never been able to wrap his head around it. Perhaps it was all in his head.
They eventually arrived at the nursery, which turned out to be the same room Daphne had stayed in while recovering.
"Is this it?" Tracey asked.
"It's across from the second guest bedroom, so it has to be," Harry said.
Daphne nodded her agreement.
"I hate it in there," she whispered. "I don't know why, but I hate it."
"Do you want to wait outside?" he offered.
She shook her head and took his hand.
"Let's go," she replied, glancing back at Tracey.
He opened the door and immediately felt like something was wrong. It was subtle but now felt more pronounced; the air was nauseating, making his stomach squirm, and he could pinpoint it to the old vanity on the opposite side of the room. It was as far from the cot as it could be, tucked into the corner, which seemed shrouded in a different type of darkness than the rest.
It was suddenly hard to believe that Daphne had been sleeping in here. The room looked unfriendly and uninhabitable, but he struggled to explain how beyond its appearance.
Daphne spoke up, her voice filling the oppressive silence.
"I remember this feeling. It makes my head go all fuzzy."
"It feels different in here to the rest of the place," Tracey confirmed from behind them.
The pounding in Harry's head was intensifying the longer he stared at the vanity. It was darkly coloured, but he couldn't tell if it was black or brown. Wood grains were visible on the flat surface beneath a mirror with a hairline fracture through the middle.
He had no idea why Sirius had kept this around, but he suspected Kreacher had something to do with it.
"Do you feel okay, Harry?" Daphne asked from beside him.
He realised he'd stopped, with Daphne lightly tugging on his hand.
"I think so, yeah," he replied, blinking rapidly. "Let's get this over with."
That seemed enough for her as she turned on the vanity with Tracey beside her.
The pressure built with each step, and he could almost sense a presence in the top drawer. It felt similar but also uncomfortably foreign. Neither Daphne nor Tracey seemed affected by it as he was, or if they were, then they didn't show it.
A chill raced down his spine as he touched the metallic handle of the drawer. He ignored it and pulled it open.
The drawer was filled with old wizarding photographs, trinkets, and parchment scraps, but his eyes sought the locket out immediately. It lay upon a dusty, creased photo of a younger man — one who reminded Harry of Sirius greatly.
They have the same eyes and narrow chin, he thought. The sight brought back memories he'd long since suppressed.
The golden locket had a large green 'S' on the front.
In a moment of impulsiveness, he reached out for the locket. The throbbing in his head spiked but dulled as soon as his hand closed around it, being replaced with a pleasantly numb sensation.
"Harry!" Daphne hissed. "That was dangerous!"
Harry looked up as he zoned back in on his surroundings, letting the locket clatter into the drawer.
"Sorry. I wasn't thinking."
He cursed himself for his carelessness. It'd almost felt like the locket had jerked away from him as he'd touched it.
Horcruxes may be soul pieces, but they're all inherently inanimate, aren't they? A soul can't move or manipulate an object itself, can it? The object is just the vessel it resides within.
He didn't like how it made him feel. He didn't feel like himself at all when he'd reached for it.
"What do we do with it?" Tracey asked, peering around Daphne to get a look at the locket.
"We could leave it, but I'm not sure. It doesn't seem to be destroyed like the other ones Harry's elf dropped on the floor," Daphne replied.
"I hate that this was in here the whole time," Harry said, "it feels so wrong, doesn't it?"
Tracey looked surprised but nodded nonetheless.
"I suppose so. It doesn't look like it belongs."
"We could put it in the bag with the other destroyed ones?" Daphne suggested. "I have no idea how many there could be in total, though."
They had no idea of knowing. Their current sources on Horcruxes had only described one instance of someone creating a Hocrux; that was a singular one, not multiple. Splitting the soul at least once was already considered incredibly difficult, painful, and requiring powerful and murderous intent.
He remembered Kreacher's words clearly. Each item he'd dumped on the floor had been an anchor for Voldemort's soul until Kreacher had somehow destroyed them. They didn't know what he'd done to achieve that; none of the literature hinted that they were simple to destroy or detailed how the soul piece within should be erased.
Judging by the damage on the others, he assumed it wouldn't be easy.
Pulling his wand out, Harry attempted to levitate the locket but was surprised when nothing happened.
"Can you try, Daphne?"
"I can," she answered, mirroring his surprise when the locket didn't budge.
"I guess magic might not work on it."
"I'll go grab the bag with the others and we can put it in there," Tracey suggested, hurrying out of the room.
Daphne leaned forward again, examining the locket with a critical eye.
He met her gaze.
"This is not going to be easy."
"Of course not. But we're in this together now, aren't we?" she asked.
"Of course."
Getting out of it unscathed would be another matter, but that was the unspoken understanding among the three of them since their last day at Hogwarts.