Be Careful
32: What Soul You Seek
By Anne B. Walsh
"What's a Horcrux?"
"Something out of a scare-story… at least, that's all I ever thought it was…"
Abby's fearful words were still ringing in Draco's ears the next morning at breakfast. The scene they had witnessed with Potter, Weasley, and Granger the day before had answered questions he'd never allowed himself to think about before.
Like how the Dark Lord did it. How he stayed alive all that time when his body was destroyed. How he can be so sure that he'll never die now.
He has soul-anchors. Horcruxes. Not one, but many. And some of them have been destroyed, but some haven't…
Harry had backtracked to watch the disguised trio's raid on the Ministry, then a bit more to get some of their time staying at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, which address had sent Meghan into fits of laughter. It was hard, she explained between giggles, to take seriously the idea of your home, the place where you'd learned to toddle and fallen down the front steps and had accidents on the drawing room rugs, as a hideout in a desperate war against evil.
But watching Kreacher tell his story had taken the smile from Meghan's face, and several of the watchers had sniffed or blotted at their eyes. Draco could understand their feelings, if he didn't share them—Regulus Black was a person to them, their uncle or cousin or family friend, and to hear how another version of him had died had to be unsettling.
Here's hoping I don't die trying to do what he did…
Draco shook off this thought irritably. Time to think straight. Lucky for us, running across the night they'd decided to start from the beginning and lay out everything they knew…
There were six Horcruxes. Potter killed the diary way back in second year—no wonder the Dark Lord was so hacked off at Lucius for giving it to Ginny. A brief snicker. Might be the only good thing my dear father's ever done. So that's one gone. And Dumbledore killed the ring, so that makes two. Four left. What do we know about them?
Voices were starting to rise at the other end of the Great Hall. Draco ignored them. Two of them, we know both what they are and where—that's the locket and the snake. One, we know what it is, but not where—the cup. And one, we've got no clue, except that it'll likely be something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's.
He took a sip of his tea. I'd lean towards Ravenclaw, myself. The Dark Lord wouldn't want to use anything of Gryffindor's just on principle. If I can use that word in regards to him…
"Harry Potter is a hero!" shouted a girl's voice, silencing all conversation in an instant. "Don't you dare tell lies about him!"
"Harry Potter's a liar and a thief, and a coward to boot!" Alecto gave a cackling laugh. "Else why doesn't he come out in the open, ’stead of skulking around in the shadows?"
All attention in the Hall was now focused on the spot between the Gryffindor table and the teachers’, where Ginny Weasley, hands half-fisted, was staring down the Muggle Studies professor. "Harry is not a coward," she hissed. "And he's never told a lie in his life."
"Never told a lie, eh?" Alecto waved towards the center of the high table, where Snape sat motionless, watching the drama unfolding beneath him. "How d'ye account for him accusing an innocent man of murder, then?"
"Snape couldn't be innocent if he tried," Ginny spat, her lip curling as she glared scorn at the Headmaster. "If Harry says he killed Professor Dumbledore, I believe it."
"I'm sure you do, pretty one." Alecto grinned, like a gash across her lumpen face. "Two days’ detention for cheek, and three for vicious lies about your Headmaster. You'll report to the Dark Arts class after lunch tomorrow." The grin grew wider. "They can use you to practice on."
Draco bit back a groan just in time. "Weasley through and through, that one," he muttered aloud. "All spunk, no brains."
"Don't you mean Gryffindor through and through?" Nott scoffed from the other side of the table. "I hope I get to work on her!" His leer seemed to say he'd prefer to do that work without his robes, or Ginny's for that matter.
Perverted little sod that he is.
Belatedly, the meaning of Nott's comment registered with Draco.
Wednesday Dark Arts—that's our class, my class, and they're sending her there for punishment—
He swore silently. There was no way in the world, after nearly two months of watching Ginny laugh and flirt with Harry and dance about the stage with the other daughters, that he'd be able to torture her, not even knowing that she wasn't the same person as the one he'd befriended.
Especially not if they try to make us use the Unforgivables. And they will.
Though wait—there might still be a way—
Lost in planning, Draco barely noticed Blaise, beside him, push his plate away and get up from the table.
Put on a good enough eager-little-arse-kisser face and no one notices anything else you might be or do…
Ginny rounded the corner into an unoccupied section of hallway and leaned against the wall, shaking.
Stupid, stupid girl, she scolded herself roundly. Words can't hurt Harry, especially when he's not here to hear them! Now you've got yourself a load of detentions, and you know they're not going to be anything nearly as nice as bottling boiling frog guts or picking out rotten flobberworms bare-handed…
"Well, well," said a cool voice. She looked up. Blaise Zabini stood over her, looking down his nose. "So the last of the Weasleys is the first one to be tamed."
"Who said I was tame?" Ginny challenged, sliding a hand into her robes. If she could just get her wand, Fred and George had taught her the perfect charm for moments like this a few days before she got on the train…
Zabini's hand shot out and caught her wrist. "Oh, no, you don't," he said, leaning down and giving her a faceful of strong cinnamon toothpaste smell. She coughed, turning aside. "Ah-ah. Look at me." His other hand grasped her chin and turned it back towards him. "You're really not bad-looking, are you? I'll make you a deal, Weasley girl. You do a few simple things for me, and I'll make sure it gets around that you're under my protection and I wouldn't want you damaged. I'll even let you decide what we do—within reason, of course, I have my needs." He smirked. "So what do you say?"
Ginny spat in his face. "Go to hell," she snapped.
Zabini's eyes blazed, and he let go of her chin, first wiping his cheek with his sleeve, then swinging his hand back—
"Christ, Zabini, I knew you were desperate," drawled a new voice. "But this is low even for you."
Zabini let go of Ginny's wrist as if it were red-hot. Ginny snatched out her wand and spun to face the speaker. Draco Malfoy leaned against the corner of the hall, regarding them both with wry amusement.
"I mean, honestly," he went on, giving Ginny a dismissive look. "Scrounging for Potter's leavings? She can't be good for much, or he'd have taken her with him instead of the Granger Mudblood."
God, I wish he had. Then I wouldn't have to stand here and listen to you. Ginny tightened her grip on her wand. You forget fast, don't you, Malfoy? What I did once, I can do again…
"Besides, we should feel sorry for her," Malfoy crooned in mock-pity. "Her dear brother's home sick. At least he's alive." He laid a heavy emphasis on the last four words, looking hard at her.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ginny growled.
"Means he's alive, doesn't it? He didn't die in the night and you just haven't had the owl yet?" Malfoy snorted. "I don't know why I'm wasting my time talking to you. Come on, Zabini, Slughorn'll be wondering where we are."
Zabini had gone a greenish shade of gray. "You're not going to…"
"To what?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "To tell? You mean you don't want the whole school to know the only girl you can get is Potter's discard?"
"Keep your voice down!" Zabini hissed, looking wildly around.
Malfoy snickered. "Relax, Zabini, I won't tell anyone. Might be fun to watch you squirm, but I'd rather not start a feud two days into the new year."
Zabini sagged in relief. "I owe you," he said, snatching up his bag from where he'd set it down by the intersection of the halls and disappearing around the corner.
Malfoy watched him go for a second, then looked back at Ginny. "It's not safe for little girls to go wandering around on their own anymore," he said softly. "Stay with your friends, and keep your wand handy. I might not be there next time."
Ginny bared her teeth. "Sod off, Malfoy. I can take care of myself."
"Tsk-tsk." Malfoy shook his head sadly. "Such a dirty mouth, on such a pretty girl. I guess you don't need to know what I heard about Potter last night." He turned to go.
"Wait!" The cry was half-involuntary, straight from Ginny's heart to her lips without invoking her brain in between. "What did—" She forced herself to silence, but the damage was done. She might as well finish it. "What did you hear?" she whispered, looking at the floor.
"Heard he's alive." Malfoy's tone was studiously nonchalant, and Ginny glanced up to see him examining his fingernails. "Heard he's safe, more or less. Heard he found something he was looking for, without losing too much along the way."
Without losing too much—and he said earlier about Ron—oh, Merlin's robes, they're alive, they're all alive, they're safe out there somewhere—Ginny's legs threatened to give way, and she braced herself against the wall.
But there's just one problem.
This is Draco Malfoy I'm talking to.
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" she challenged.
Malfoy met her eyes, and a smile spread across his face that was unlike anything she'd ever seen on him before. It reminded her a great deal of Fred and George.
"Trust me," he said, and was gone before she could muster a reply.
"Look at her face!" Ginny pointed left-handed at her counterpart, frozen in the TVP projection, staring dumbfounded at the corner Draco had just walked around. "She looks like she's just hit the vanishing step by accident!"
"I don't think she knew quite what to do with my telling her to trust me," Draco said, chuckling at the memory. "We haven't been on very good terms these past few years."
"Bit of an understatement, that," said Harry. "You do realize this thing will go back as far as we ask it to?"
"Oh God." Draco dropped his head into his hands. "I'd say ‘I can explain’, but I really can't…"
"You were younger then," said Hermione absently, her eyes still on the page she was reading of The Lives of the Hogwarts Founders. "You wouldn't do those things again, would you?"
"Not a fair question, Neenie," Ray put in, meeting Draco's eyes. There was worry and understanding there, and Draco had a sudden suspicion his counterpart had looked farther back than Hogwarts. "If he says yes, you'll probably hex him on the spot."
"No, it's all right." Draco gave the question some thought, while the floating image of Ginny hurried up to another girl and began whispering urgently into an ear half-hidden by dark blonde hair.
If I could start Hogwarts over, knowing what I know now…
"I don't think I would," he said finally. "Most of it ended up making me look stupid, and Potter and his friends look like heroes. Generally because that's exactly what we were being."
Being able to admit it, say it out, was like dropping a heavy rucksack he hadn't known he'd been carrying. I was stupid. Over and over, in just about every way you can imagine, I was an arse for six bloody years, and now that I've finally figured it out, it might be too late to change the way anyone thinks about me…
On the other hand, if everything works out the way I want it to, I won't have to care what any of them think of me, will I?
The two girls in the projection had nearly reached their classroom. One of them turned to look over her shoulder. The scene froze on the image of Luna's face, a slight wrinkle of worry creasing her usually smooth forehead.
Well, maybe one person…
A knock on the door destroyed this thought. Ginny jumped and took her hand away from the TVP, and the image vanished.
"Come in!" Ray called.
Professor Riddle opened the door. "I understand this is the headquarters of the Hogwarts Transdimensional Spy Association?" he said, generating a round of appreciative snickers. "How is it working?"
"Perfectly, sir," said Ginny, waving to it. "Would you like to try it?"
"Yes, I think I would." Professor Riddle came over to the podium and fitted his long-fingered hand against the outline, which shifted to accommodate him.
Draco sat up straighter, a shiver running down his spine. Note to self: Do not look the Dark Lord in the eye any time soon.
An image solidified in the air: Lord Voldemort, smiling coldly at something none of them could see. Little gasps and squeals ran through the room, and Ginny took a step back into Harry's arms.
"You had to live with that all summer?" said Ron. "And here I thought Auntie Muriel was the scariest houseguest going." He imitated an old woman's cracked voice. "‘Get me something to drink, boy, I'm a hundred and five!’"
"I think that's enough of him." Professor Riddle twitched his palm.
The image of Voldemort splintered and reformed into another—the snake Nagini, coiled on the back of her master's chair, her head lifted as if she were listening to something.
"Good," Professor Riddle murmured. "And again…"
The image went black, with only flickers of light playing teasingly across whatever it was trying to show. Professor Riddle frowned at his hand. "Is there—ah, yes, I see it." His fingers moved skillfully, and the picture froze, then moved forward at glacial speed.
"How unfair is that?" Ray muttered. "We made the thing, and he figures out how to use it better than us in just a couple seconds."
"You created it to be easy to understand," Professor Riddle said without turning around. "And I have many more years of experience deciphering magical artifacts than you do. Here we are." His finger twitched, and the image froze again, a sliver of light showing its outlines clearly.
Hermione gasped. "It's the locket! The one we saw the other Harry and Ron and the other me taking yesterday!"
"So it is—and if we move out a bit…" Professor Riddle tapped another finger twice, and the picture pulled back to reveal that the locket lay under the robes of a drawn-faced young man with black hair and glasses. "We can see who has it now."
"He needs to take it off," Harry muttered, looking at his counterpart with worry. "It's not good for him."
"No, it isn't. But we have no way of telling him that, so I think we can leave him for now." Professor Riddle nodded to the image as it reformed once more. "What about this?"
Draco stared at the picture hovering in the air. "That looks familiar," he said slowly.
"Like the inside of a Gringotts vault, maybe?" said Ray in a bored tone.
"No, I mean that particular one. I've been there before, but I can't remember when. Why are we seeing it now?"
"Up and to the right, Professor," Neville said over the end of Draco's question, pointing. "Up on the shelf, look, there beside the helmet with the emeralds."
"What?" said several people at once, but Draco was already following Neville's finger, and he spotted what Neville had an instant before Professor Riddle brought it into better focus.
"It's the cup," he said. "One of the ones Potter doesn't know where to find. And—"
The picture was already changing. A huge, dimly-lit room came into focus, filled with heaps of broken and discarded things. In the center sat a battered cupboard, with a stone bust perched atop it, wearing a dusty wig and a bent tiara.
Draco frowned. "That's the Room of Hidden Things, it's here at Hogwarts, but what—"
Meghan and Hermione gasped in unison, and Luna gave a little cry of delight. "Ravenclaw's diadem! Daddy's always thought it was likely still at Hogwarts somewhere!"
"It may not be, in our world," Professor Riddle cautioned. "And I doubt you would want this diadem, with what has been done to it."
What has been done to it—of course, it's a Horcrux, they're all Horcruxes! Professor Riddle can find them because the Dark Lord's his counterpart, the TVP must seek by soul! A wave of hot excitement swept across Draco. We know them all now, we know where they are—the Dark Lord's as good as defeated—
Not so fast, Malfoy, a voice at the back of Draco's mind warned. You think Potter's going to accept an anonymous owl telling him where to find these things? And even if he would, how's he going to get into Gringotts, or Hogwarts? For that matter, how's he going to destroy the one he's got?
"We're not finished," he muttered aloud. "We've barely even started."
"But we have started," said Luna from behind him, making him jump. "That's worth something."
"I hope you're right."
"I know I am." Luna smiled at him, and Draco felt his spirits rise.
She's right. We have started. I'm not alone anymore.
As soon as I can pull this off, I never have to be alone again.
I think that's what you call incentive to do a good job of it…