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"Fizzing Whizzbees." Tonks muttered.
There was a rumble from the stairwell gargoyle, huge and ominous, cast in shadows from the poor light of the stairwell. It moved aside, revealing a door.
Tonks pushed open the door nervously.
"Welcome, Nymphadora." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he welcomed her.
"Hi, Professor."
Dumbledore tutted, his grayed eyebrows knitting together. "Albus, please, if you will. We are colleagues, after all, are we not?"
"Sorry, Albus." Tonks smiled anxiously. "I guess we are. Sorry I missed the meeting."
"The Order understands, as do I, that you have other duties. Tea?"
"No, thank you." She sat down, swallowing her nerves. "It's been a while since I was here." She joked, staring out of the window, at the glorious view of the Hogwarts grounds, forest, lake and all.
"You weren't a poor student, Nymphadora, just an excitable one. I was always glad to have our little chats." The Headmaster said kindly, popping a lemon drop into his mouth.
Tonks tugged her skirt a little lower. She'd been trying to fit in with the other girls, but she felt a little silly now, in her too-small Hogwarts uniform, in the Headmaster's office. "I'm glad I'm not in trouble this time."
"That remains to be seen." Dumbledore laughed, his laugh somehow twinkly like his eyes. Warmth-inducing. Perhaps that was his magic, Tonks thought. "I tease, of course. What news have you?"
"I was at Harry's Defense Association meeting. I thought I should report back."
"Oh? Ill tides?"
"Not…well, it wasn't what I thought it'd be. The Macmillan boy, Ernie, he wanted to know how to really kill the Death Eaters. And Harry showed them."
"Dark spells?" Dumbledore frowned.
"No," Tonks shook her head slowly. "But that made it worse, somehow. He showed them how to kill a man using the Hogwarts curriculum, more or less. He used the Room of Requirement to emulate a duel he said he'd had, a man he'd killed."
The Headmaster leaned forward. "Did you recognize it? From the Greengrass manor?"
"No. Not even close." Tonks hesitated. "But I never went inside the manor, I guess, during the fight."
"Hmm."
Tonks paused, letting him think. "You think he's gone Dark?"
"No, no." The old man laughed hastily. "But I can admit to being troubled by the changes in young Harry this year."
"It's the year when witches and wizards become adults, though."
"Young adults, indeed," Dumbledore took a delicate sip of his tea. "But young adults don't decide elections, manipulate opponents, fight Dark Lords. And they don't teach their classmates to kill."
"He's been through a lot." Tonks argued. "That's made him grow up fast."
"Perhaps." Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Perhaps. I fear, Nymphadora, that in trying to give Harry a childhood, I have deprived him of one. And in trying to guide him from afar, I have left him feeling without guidance."
"What are you going to do?"
"Let him grow. Study him. And hope that I am not repeating my mistakes." Tonks was surprised to see a wan smile on the Headmaster's face. She'd never seen him look so defeated. "You'll shadow him, still?"
"I will." She said.
"Get close to him, Nymphadora, if you can. I fear he'll need you sooner rather than later."
###
Fleur growled, punching her pillow, her thighs squirming together. Everything smelled like Harry's cum. How was it possible?
Her pillow in Beauxbatons smelled like him. His masculine musk, the scent of his dripping cock, the heat of his seed. In the middle of the night, she'd snapped. Pulled on her gown and Flooed back home, back to Provence.
Stamped up the stairs to her room. Her welcoming bed.
But her pillow smelled him again. Her whole bed. It was like his cum stained it.
She couldn't sleep, her Veela core demanding she find the source of the magical power, the all-conquering man who could produce such an alluring scent. Her pussy dripped.
She'd tried to touch herself — bent her knees, spread her legs, fingered herself so frantically that she was left gasping and sweaty. But not satiated, not sleepy, and no less rid of thoughts of him.
For a moment, she considered going back to Beauxbatons — she always slept better with Marie. But no, Marie was not available for anything. Not for their coffee dates, not for lunch between classes and certainly not for late night rendezvouses.
Fleur had been cast aside. Marie spent her time in odd textbooks or writing love letters — the last time Fleur had walked in, with her key, she was on her bed, taking a photograph of herself as she worked a cucumber into her snatch, whimpering Harry's name. She'd gone quite mad.
"Zis is ridiculous." Fleur muttered, snapping her hand away as she found it absently sliding back down towards her groin. "Maybe I am ze one going mad."
Enough was enough. She wrenched on her gown and made her way down the stairs. Maybe a late-night snack would finally put her to rest, and she was hungry and thirsty after playing with herself for so long.
In their palatial kitchen, the light was on.
Fleur's brows furrowed. "What are you doing up, Mama?"
Her mother smiled at her knowingly. She was clad in her own nightgown, penning a letter, her long hair curling over her chest. "Ma fille." She put her quill down. "You cannot sleep? I heard you stomp in from the Floo. What's wrong at school?"
"Nothing." Fleur said tersely, grabbing some bread to go along with the brie from the fridge.
"Cheese, at this hour? You'll have nightmares."
"I wish I could sleep enough for nightmares." Fleur scowled but allowed her mother's hand to touch her forehead.
"You're running hot. A fever?"
"No." Fleur willed herself not to blush. "I'm fine."
"If you say so." Mama patted her cheek. Fleur frowned — even Mama's fingers smelled like Harry.
"Who are you writing to?" She tried to peek but her mother had spelled the document to hide its contents.
"House business, mon ange." Mama sighed happily.
"What's with you?" Fleur pursed her lips, looking over her mother. A gown that was more of a negligee that showed off Mama's large chest, a glowing smile, perfume.
"Nothing." Mama smiled at her in amusement and then stole the piece of bread she'd spread her cheese on. "Thank you." She said around a mouthful.
Fleur eyed her suspiciously. Everyone was acting odd these days.
"It was nice to see 'Arry at the party." Fleur said airily, examining her nails.
"It was. We shall not forget what he did for Gabrielle."
"I imagine," Fleur cleared her throat. "I imagine that the Veela Court will try to place a Veela with him, to ingratiate ourselves with a man that will clearly become powerful."
Mama pursed her lips in amusement, clearly not fooled. "You are not getting married off to Harry, Fleur."
"And nor would I want to." Fleur scowled.
"Good."
"Good, zen." Fleur crossed her arms as her mother stole more of her bread. The minutes passed. Fleur opened and shut her mouth a few times. Mama ignored her.
"Why not?"
Mama sighed, putting her knife down. "Do you know the last Veela who went to Britain?"
Fleur paused. "No,"
"Her lover paraded her down ze Alley in a dog-leash. He took her in the side streets, in front of the crowds. He took money from those who wanted to experience her. The women, they threw tomatoes at her."
"But 'Arry—"
"But nothing." Mama said firmly. "We are not thought of as people there. We have no rights. Harry is not going to marry a Veela, imagine the politics of it. He will take a Veela as a whore, maybe, but never as a wife."
"But 'Arry is a good man."
"Precisely." Mama frowned at her. "Which is why he would not ruin the good name of his House for the sake of a Veela marriage in a country where Veela are expensive whores. Maybe, with his help, we can change that perception, one day, very far from now."
"Fine."
"C'est bon."
"I'm going to bed."
"Sweet dreams." Mama smiled, her lips twitching.
Fleur just huffed as she stomped away. What did Mama know anyway?
The dreams came, eventually, but even in sleep, she was offered no respite.
When she woke, exhausted, her hands stretched to her neck. She did not find what she'd dreamed of — the leashed collar around her neck as she walked proudly in front of her Master, down Diagon Alley, the famed Veela whore of House Potter.
###
"Can I not make you breakfast before you go, my love?" Narcissa said softly as she fixed his tie. "Or may I be allowed to pleasure you?" Her hand dropped to his crotch through his Hogwarts robes.
Harry laughed quietly. They were being quiet to avoid waking Helena, who was passed out to the world. He pulled his naughty Mistress into him, admiring her figure. She'd woken only minutes before him, but somehow she was in full stockings, a sea blue corset, white garters up her thigh, netted white gloves. And long, glowing coils of lush blond hair.
Narcissa took her housewife duties seriously — including the look. She preened and turned for his hungry gaze.
"I think you gave me more than enough pleasure for a year, last night, my Cissy." He kissed her chastely. Once he revved her engine, he'd never get out of the house.
She let out a sensuous murmur. "That was…quite something, my Lord. My wizard is so virile and mighty that my innocent daughter was a helpless whimpering whore in your embrace."
Her hands spread over his chest, long eyelashes fluttering closed.
"That's enough, Cissy." He ordered, amused.
"Forgive me, my love." Her look of faux-innocence. "Some small things before you go, please." She tugged him through Malfoy Manor. Harry followed amenably — watching her thick rear bounce with every step. How did she walk in those big heels?
The heels were soft on the carpet and then loud as they stepped into the warmth of the huge kitchen, large French doors pouring sunlight through. Narcissa had redone her house to make the kitchen the central attraction. Whereas before it was out of the way, hidden, manned only by house elves, now Narcissa cooked and baked in there daily.
Rustic cabinets in a sea foam teal, topped with marble white counters, brass taps. White shelves on the wall to hold the fine china and the pots and pans. White lilies in a vase by the sink. A huge Aga range in the same sea-foam color, Cissy's pride and joy.
"A good wife needs a good kitchen." Narcissa had told him when he'd first walked into the new room. Not that it looked new — Harry thought it had been pulled straight out of a pin-up poster from the Second World War, but it suited Cissy and her desire to be the traditional housewife of his dreams.
She bent at the waist and pulled some steaming banana bread from the oven. "Here, I made this. I'll cut you a slice now. Won't you take some to Hogwarts?"
Harry blinked. "Oddly, Sirius made me some banana bread the other day."
"Sirius? Like…cousin Sirius?" Narcissa giggled.
"Azkaban, or perhaps the isolation of being a fugitive, has made him take up baking, it seems." Harry took a bite of her bread.
"Well," Narcissa swung her arms around her neck. "It took the love of my life to make me take up baking." She kissed him languidly.
"And I'm very grateful." Harry chuckled as she kissed the crumbs from his mouth. "That's damn good."
"Is it?" She lit up, glowing like a Christmas tree. "I'm so happy. I have a wonderful wizard, I have my daughter back." She sighed, shivering. "I can't thank you enough, my Harry." Her eyes glistened.
"Anything for you, Narcissa." He said gently, feeling his heart wrench. His girl. He kissed her, tangling his hands in her hair and tugging her head back until she was breathless and swooning.
"Speaking of Helena, what are you two girls going to do today?"
"She's got today off school, so I'm going to teach her how to be a good girl for you."
"She's fine, Cissy." Harry raised his eyebrow. "She doesn't need to do anything special."
"Nonsense." Narcissa said firmly. "She must learn to channel her love for you productively. I had a lot to learn, so I need to pass it on."
"Okay, sweetheart. Don't go too crazy, will you?" He stole another kiss. "I gotta go."
"Come back soon. I miss you, all the time." Cissy tugged at his tie.
"I will." He promised.
And then he was gone, Flooing back to the Chamber of Secrets. It was still early.
Early enough to wake Hermione up, perhaps.
Up to the common room, through the Fat Lady portrait. "Another late night, I see." The Fat Lady said.
Harry ignored her, summoned his broom and dove out of the Common Room window. He enjoyed the sharp winter wind on his face, the stomach-churning sensation of falling, before he kicked up and above the spires of Hogwarts. For a moment, he just enjoyed the view.
Hogwarts. The spires and the lake, the endless rolling greens and the beating heart of the castle embedded in the rocks. He'd never tire of her.
When the cold got to him, he dove back down to the tower which held the Gryffindor girls. She never locked her window anymore.
She was already up, squealing in fright as he pulled open the curtains of her canopy bed. Naked, hair slightly wet, pulling on some red Gryffindor knee-high socks.
"Harry, you can't just—mmph." He kissed her quiet, leaning her back on the bed. Her complaints died in his mouth as he snogged her, tongue battles hers into submission. His hands dancing up her ankle to her knee, up her knee to her thighs.
"Did you miss me?" He gasped out, holding her tight. He was cold and she was ever so warm.
"You're freezing, what's wrong with you?" Hermione hit his back ineffectively. "Harry, I'm naked."
"Yeah, you are." His fingers trailed through the tiny dusting of hair she had above her pussy. "My gorgeous girl."
"Harry." She rolled her eyes. "Stop it. Where have you been? You've not been here—"
"In our bed, you mean?"
"It's my bed, you prat. Now stop messing around, we're going to miss breakfast." She slapped his hand away as it threatened to lower to her clit. "I'm trying to get dressed."
"Did you get my package?"
"It's on the dresser." Harry peeked his head out of the curtains to make sure all the other girls had disappeared. He grabbed his parcel and tore it open.
"What is it?" Hermione asked hesitantly.
"More clothes for my beautiful girl." Harry showed her the box — stunning lingerie in deep wine red, intricately detailed in lace.
"Harry, I'm not a toy to be dressed up and—"
He rolled her over and spanked her bottom. Hard. She squeaked. "Hermione," He said teasingly. "Let's try that again. What do you say?"
She bit her lip. "Thank you, Harry."
"Good girl." He rubbed her asscheeks soothingly. Silently, he dressed her. A bra that both pushed up and revealed her breasts, solidly colored but with fractal patterns on their hem. Her pink nipples peeked out through the pattern.
Panties, a high French cut thong on her hips, patterns of lace until they descended into a solid panel to cover her pussy, but they were so tight that her mound was visible, her lips almost peeking out from either side. And at the back, her asscheeks swallowed the fabric.
Finally, the black hose stockings, which he slowly rolled up her legs. And at their hem, high up her thigh, roses in black patterned her bare skin.
Harry stepped back to admire her, seeing her breathing hard. "How does it feel?"
"Expensive." Hermione bit out a gasping laugh, touching her stockings gently.
"Look in the mirror."
He held her tight as she studied herself in the full length mirror, head on her shoulder. "Don't you look so beautiful?" He nibbled on her ear lobe.
"I do." She admitted. She inhaled sharply as he cupped her breasts.
"What do you say?"
"Thank you, Harry." She whispered, blinking her eyes rapidly.
"Good girl." He kissed her cheek. "Let's get breakfast, my Mione."
"Okay." She said compliantly. "Where were you last night?"
"Out."
"I could have…you know."
"I don't."
She slapped his arm. "You know what I'm saying." Hermione said, staring holes into the carpet. "I said I would help you. You said I'm your girl, didn't you?"
"And you are. Tell me you love me." Harry said teasingly.
She sighed, but she was smiling. "I love you."
"Good. I love you too. Don't worry, I'll be back soon. I miss my Mione in these cold winter nights. Now, let's get breakfast. Can you help me with my Transfiguration homework? I have to write twelve inches on advanced cross-species Transfiguration by this afternoon and I haven't even started."
"I did it." Hermione said quietly.
"I know, you always do it early, that's why I'm asking."
"No, I mean, I did it for you." She blushed, looking down at her hands. She pulled some parchment from her dresser. "I knew you were busy and out of the castle, and that you hadn't started, so I emulated your writing style and your handwriting and I—"
"Hermione." Harry said, stunned. "My Hermione."
"It's no big deal. I mean, don't get used to it, because you really should be doing—mmph!" He captured her lips, hard, kissing her passionately. Harry poured his soul and his love for her into his kiss, left her gasping and melted into him, nestling her head on his chest.
"You're so good to me. I love you so much." He told her, feeling his heart bursting with affection.
"I love you too." She said softly, meeting his eyes finally. "Just…just treat me right, okay? I…I bruise easily."
"I will." He promised. "Come on, let's get you some breakfast."
They made their way down, a slow giggling mess. Harry couldn't take his hands off her — and whenever they heard voices from around the corner, Hermione would have to slap his hands away, darting away from him in a huff. He pulled her into nooks and cupboards for quick kisses, slipping his hand up her skirt, admiring the way her new stockings looked.
She looked owned.
Finally, they entered the Great Hall, avoiding the curious looks and sitting down to eat.
"I'm famished." Harry realized. Last night had been too wild.
Hermione piled his plate up for him.
"You need to treat yourself better." She said firmly. "Stop missing meals and less late night excurs…well, early nights, I mean."
Harry smiled thinly. She needed to be more discrete, and so did he. Thankfully, Tonks was missing this morning, and half the Professors too. At the other end of the table, Ron turned his head just as Harry waved.
"Did you two argue?" He asked Hermione, frowning.
Her jaw set. "It's nothing. Ron's being a silly little boy."
"But—"
Katie ruffled her newspaper. "I can't believe Sirius Black is innocent. Harry, did you know?" She asked from the other side of the table. She'd redone her blonde highlights in her cocoa brown hair.
"Of course he did." Angelina frowned. "His quotes are in the article. You always just read the headline."
"I've known for a while." Harry said. He shoulder-bumped Hermione. "Mione and I saved him from being found and executed in our third year, but it took me a while to gain the political influence to get his case looked at."
Katie shook her head in amazement. "And to think, we were all sleeping in the Great Hall because we were so afraid. Remember that? We were all so afraid."
"You were so afraid." Alicia pointed her fork at her. "We were fine."
Katie blushed.
Ginny was flicking through the Daily Prophet herself. "It was really good of you to say that about Cedric, Harry." Her smile was warm.
"Huh?"
"You know, in the article." Ginny pored over the paper. "Lord Potter declared that recent unconfirmed stories about Cedric Diggory's scandals and sexual history are unsubstantiated lies, besmirching the good name of a great wizard." She read.
"Oh, right." Harry blinked. He'd forgotten he'd asked Cho Chang to get that printed in the paper. It was mostly a way to keep the Potter name clean — and of course to keep the name Cedric associated with scandals. He was definitely going to hell. "Yeah, I just thought it might help. It's terrible, those stories. His poor family."
"You've got a kind heart, Harry." Ginny smiled sweetly at him. He just eyed her, evaluating her. She was pretty.
Maybe in time. But the baggage of her family wasn't worth it. Having to deal with six brothers and Mrs. Weasley — Ginny could be the world's greatest fuck and he'd still treat her warily.
He shook his head. He needed more sleep.
Hermione refilled his pumpkin juice.
There was a commotion at the Hufflepuff table. Professor Sprout was screeching at one of his students, bouncing up and down. As a group, they all looked over.
"She's so funny when he's angry." George grinned.
"How do you make Sprout angry, of all people?" Katie muttered.
"Fifty points from Hufflepuff for stealing a book from the Restricted Section!" The Professor snapped. "I would have thought better of you than this, Hannah!"
Harry watched with wide eyes as Sprout walked back to the Professors' table, holding a thick tome which he recognized as a book on dark curses. Hannah sank into her seat, red-faced, as her housemates chastised her. Fifty points left them struggling in the House Cup.
Fred tutted, amused. "Naughty Abbott, who would have thought?"
"It's always the innocent ones, eh, Hermione?" George grinned.
Harry could almost feel her devastation in his mind, through their bond. But he couldn't help her, not now. What was the girl playing at?
The swarm of incoming owls took the attention away from her, thankfully. Hedwig hooted, swooping down to first steal his bacon and then drop a letter.
One from Apolline - he recognized the flowery envelope.
My Lord, mon amour,
I have been asked by Princess Sophia to extend an invitation to the Veela court, along the Riviera, at your earliest convenience. She asks that you attend to speak of matters of love and war.
I know I need not warn you of the dangers, but also the great opportunities. She will look to seduce you in matters of the flesh — not of her own, but of the many Veela that reside there.
You can take her up on it, if you wish — it is not a power play, as such. Indeed, pleasuring a Veela, as I know you very well can with ease, would be looking at favorably. Do not lose your head and focus on the bargain she wants. That you want.
Sophia is the ultimate prize, a domino that once knocked down, could lead to the servitude of all Veela.
I remain lovingly yours. I think of you at every minute of the day, and long for your touch.
Your Apolline.
Harry wrote a quick reply. The Veela weren't a force he could ignore — Princess Sophia ruled the greatest enclave of them, and if he could conquer them, he'd have a force to put on the battlefield.
Other owls dropped letters. A love poem from Marie, along with some extremely naughty pictures of her. A cucumber slick with her juices — Harry hoped she wasn't going to eat that.
A gray Hogwarts owl dropped a note for him.
I saw you and Narcissa Malfoy in the changing rooms after the last Quidditch match. What is my name? What is my price? Questions for you to ponder. Answers for me to spill.
For now, a question. I make a loud sound when I 'm changing. When I do change, I get bigger but weigh less. What am I?
"Fuck's sake." Harry muttered to himself. Now he was getting blackmailed by a riddler? As if he didn't have enough to worry about. He thought for a moment, debating whether he should just give it to Hermione. Hermione would solve it.
But his blackmailer was probably watching him. He shoved the note in his pocket, trying not to show anything on his face.
He'd locked the changing rooms door, but when he'd come out onto the Quidditch pitches, it wasn't unlocked. So he could narrow it down to someone involved in Quidditch, probably. A guy, if he was going into the guy's changing rooms. But what guy would fuck around with riddles?
It must be a woman, he decided.
Something to ponder, when he had time.
One last letter - Narcissa's. He recognized the envelope. He'd bent her over her writing desk, once, knocked over a whole bunch of them.
Harry sighed in relief. He was stressed enough, with the Veela court, his blackmailer, Hannah's odd book thievery, not to mention whatever Voldemort was up to. At least Cissy would only have sent some sexy pictures.
He slit the envelope open eagerly.
Inside, a note.
My Harry,
Draco is showering the house with letters, asking where his father is. He knows something is wrong.
We must have someone to manage the Malfoy accounts and contacts before the news of Lucius ' death comes out, lest we lose a great deal of the income.
Forgive me. If I were a better woman for you, I could manage it alone, but Lucius always kept me out of his nefarious underworld dealings.
I miss you already.
Your loving Cissy.
Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. His head was pounding. He penned a quick reply telling her not to worry. He had to worry though. The Malfoy income was too large and too important to the war to just throw away. It needed constant management — pressure put on those who owed Lucius protection money, on the deals he had to skim off the top of everything from Butterbeer to apothecaries, to collect rent on the property he owned.
And the only experienced head he could think of was Peter Greengrass — a man versed in the realm of the murky, willing to get his hands dirty, experienced in running a mighty House. The man would run the Malfoy estate for him, if Harry agreed to marry his daughters.
"Fuck it." Harry muttered. He'd need to make Daphne his, whether she was ready or not.
Harry rubbed his eyes, trying to stop his head from throbbing. So many issues — he needed help. He needed women, true, but he needed the right women.
Cissy was a beautiful way to lose himself, to surrender to her tender affection. But he needed a woman to push him too. He needed a woman to manage him. And he needed a girl with a great wand-hand, a real fighter.
He'd been a fool to take Hannah as backup to Knockturn Alley, but he hadn't thought it dangerous. He couldn't take Narcissa — losing her would mean losing his first love, but also the Malfoy family and riches. And Apolline still had to keep up appearances in France.
Which meant he needed someone new, someone powerful, someone to watch his back when he was being reckless.
Sirius had said he would, but Harry was reluctant to show his whole hand to his godfather. Sirius wouldn't understand the choices he'd made.
The depths he'd sunken to.
Harry looked around at the House tables. The schoolgirls were awfully tempting — all skin and short skirts, innocent and malleable, their power growing with each day. But they were still girls, at the end of the day.
Dora walked in through the Great Hall, looking a little flustered. She was an Auror, not a girl at all. But how to take her?
She was a Black, still, on top of being an Auror, so she probably wasn't susceptible to his wealth and gifts. And she was smart, so he couldn't manipulate her so easily. As someone whose mother had married a Muggle, she wouldn't care so much about Potter prestige, either.
The answer would come, in time.
Around the table, they were still arguing about the validity of Cedric's tabloid stories.
"I'm not saying it's true. I'm saying this guy, this rentboy, he must have said it for some reason." Katie argued.
"I think sex worker is the preferred—" Hermione started.
"Whatever." Katie waved her hand.
"Whore?" Fred interjected. "Can a man be a whore?"
"You should know." Ginny jabbed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Angelina scowled.
"Nothing, I'm just—"
"He's the story, not Cedric. Like who is he and why is he suddenly saying all this stuff. Is he being paid?" Katie declared.
"You're right, the whore is the crux of it." Fred agreed. "I think Skeeter paid him to say it, if he exists at all."
"What did you say?" Harry muttered. His mind flashed. His head hurt. A memory — no, a dozen memories, fighting for his attention. Memories he held. Tom's memories, memories that Tom had locked away, deep inside his brain, fenced behind thick Occlumency walls. What was it?"
"I said the whore is the crux of it. Sorry, Hermione, sex worker."
Harry's mind flashed white. And in his mind's eye, he saw death.
His wand up.
A chilling green light.
A whispered spell.
Shattering pain — like he was being seared in flame and scythed in two. His soul split.
The triumph of beating death.
Immortality.
"Whore." Harry muttered. "Crux."
"Are you alright, Harry?" Fred's brows furrowed.
Harry held his head. Tom had split his soul, he realized, with dawning horror. Artifacts, holding splinters of his soul, ways to revive himself even after death. It was how he'd survived death once. And how he could do it again.
With each murder, a new artifact. Seven times over.
The memories came thick and fast, but they were so fenced in, so deliberately hidden even, Harry had trouble making sense of them.
Pieces of soul, creating invisible connections. The darkest of magics.
Horcruxes.
"Harry," Ginny gasped. "Your forehead is bleeding."
Harry touched it — his hand came away wet. His nose too, dripping down red.
He looked around at his friends, feeling woozy. His vision swam together in a mass of colors.
"Well, fuck."