chapter 9

Bellatrix felt suddenly small and uncertain as she stood in front of him. Her stubborn determination and desire felt suddenly hollow, inadequate, for the task at hand as she could swear his cool gaze was slowly dissecting her. There was a frightening lack of desire, a lack of want, or even emotion in those eyes that left her wanting to turn and flee.

"What, exactly, did you think that you're trying to do, Ms. Black?" Harry asked with a kind of bland curiosity that immediately left her wishing he wasn't standing between her and the door.

Shifting nervously, she swallowed and asked in an uncertain tone. "Um, seduce you?"

"I see." And suddenly he was moving, like a serpent as he was upon her, lips drawn back, teeth bare like a wolf before his prey as his eyes burned with a predatory intensity. "And, what? You thought that all you would have to do was look pretty, bat your lashes and wear something… revealing?"

If the absurdity of the situation wasn't leaving him reeling, he would've laughed at what she considered revealing. There was a kind of old fashioned appeal to it, he had to admit. A black velvet corset cut low, to reveal a hint of cleavage, dusted behind an artful decoration of black lace, with a tight, matching shrug of that same, elegance black lace that reached all the way down to her wrists.

If she hadn't worn a full set of heavy skirts with it, cut low enough to reveal her black leather heeled boots, and opted instead for a more "modern" skirt, something flowing and tight, cut up to at least her knee, she would've had more impact. To a boy whose teen years had been the 90s, it was more than a little quaint and old fashioned. To the same boy whom had spent much of that time growing up in the muggle world, it only emphasized that view.

Bellatrix Black was, he was coming to realize, shockingly naïve. Easily swayed and influenced, at least if it was by someone she respected. He was starting to understand exactly how she'd been molded into the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange. Some of the flashes he could see when she looked at him…

She remembered a milder version of that look on Lestrange's face. When she looked at Voldemort.

He could see the dark passion in her eyes, the hunger that could easily be pushed to madness under the right pressures. She wanted to be challenged, to fight. To prove herself at the end of her wand, and the fall of her opponent.

Now, however, he seemed to be finding himself the focus of that passion, that desire, instead of Voldemort. He just knew, somewhere, his godfather was laughing at him. There was, of course, the obvious solution for how to deal with this, to put himself back on familiar grounds. Reject her and sent her running to Voldemort.

As he looked at the vulnerable, uncertain woman in front of him, he found that he didn't particularly like that idea. From what he understood, he had intervened at exactly the part in her life when she was taking her first steps down the path of a Death Eater, solidifying her fate as Voldemort's hand. She had not yet started to kill and torture anyone. At least, not physically.

And… she was a very attractive witch. One who was practically throwing herself at him. It had been so long since he'd had any…

Quickly he banished those thoughts. She might not be Bellatrix Lestrange but he was still Harry Potter. Which meant that he couldn't just take advantage of her.

As much as he knew a part of him truly wanted to.

With a sigh, he spoke. "Miss Black. I'm going to assume you have a fairly good idea of how this is inappropriate?"

She flinched as a blush rose up her cheeks.

"I thought so," he stated with a nod, then a sigh. "Exactly why is it you thought this was something you should do anyway?"

Bellatrix found herself shifting about, finding everything about his room suddenly so very interesting as long as it kept her from looking back at him. Saying she wanted him to court her didn't exactly feel like the smart thing to say. With those vibrant green eyes she could still feel staring back into her, she couldn't seem to come up with any other excuse.

As she managed to hold her tongue, he sighed and she flinched again. "If you will not say, perhaps I should simply contact your parents and Head of House?"

"No!" Her response was sudden vehement. "We haven't… they haven't declared an end to our neutrality yet!"

"Neutrality?" Harry asked as he arched a brow, now more confused and curious.

"… In the conflicts between the lords?" she offered back, feeling more than a little wary and confused as she watched him.

"… What lords?" He was trying very, very hard to fight down the sudden sinking feeling he was certain was rising up in his chest.

"… Dumbledore, Voldemort and… you?" She stared at him as she offered the explanation. Didn't he know?

"Bloody hell. Already?" Harry muttered sourly as he reached up and rubbed his face. "Dammit, Charlus, I was supposed to have more time than this."

"… What does Uncle Charlus have to do with this?" Bellatrix asked carefully.

"Too much," Harry said with a sigh as he slowly shook his head. "This is…"

There was a pause as he found himself catching his words before he revealed thing she had no place knowing. Instead he pushed past her, dropping the wrapped up sword he'd been carrying with him carelessly upon his bed, before turning to look back at her. He watched as her eyes were caught flicking back towards the now unblocked door before looking back at him.

"The door is open, Ms. Black," he stated simply and shook his head. "I'm not trying to keep you here."

"… Why not?" It blurted past her lips but, once it left… "What do I have to do to interest you?!"

Harry arched a brow as he looked at her and then tilted his head to the side as he struggled to come up with an answer to that.

Instead, she seemed to take his silence as encouragement. "Do you think I throw myself at every passing man whom is reasonably attractive? That I dress like this because I enjoy the feeling of dirty, roaming eyes upon my skin?"

There was an almost physical disgust in her voice as she glared at him. "I. Dressed. For. You."

"… You do realize I grew up in the muggle world, yes?" he pointed out blandly as he looked back at her. "Being a half blood and all?"

She froze slightly at that. That… well, she hadn't known that. She'd actually assumed that… "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Muggle fashion is much less… restrained," he stated, fighting the way his lips wanted to tug into a smirk. "And they stopped wearing skirts with that much material fifty years or so back."

"… what?" Bellatrix couldn't help it; she had to stare at him.

"The top is nice and all, elegant, with a bit of an old fashioned sophistication," he went on, feeling a bit of his own babbling coming into place. "But the skirt is really where you lose me. I'm sorry, but it's just too old fashioned."

She continued to stare at him, mouth hanging slightly as her eyes were caught wide and disbelieving.

"So if you're going to try and seduce me again, I'd suggest spending some time in the muggle world and get caught up on the fashions there instead." he went on, feeling a degree of satisfaction at the idea. That would keep the bloody woman away. As much progress as she'd made, Harry just couldn't see her willingly submersing herself in muggle culture.

"You… you…" She struggled to form the words staring back at him. Suddenly she very much wished she had left her wand more readily accessible.

"If there's nothing else?" Harry asked leadingly as he looked at her over the rims of his glasses.

"… This is not over," she declared firmly, glaring at him before turning and stalking off.

With a kind of sinking certainty, Harry realized that maybe, just maybe, he had pushed things an ounce too far.

Shaking his head, he waved his wand and sent the door shutting itself before focusing his attention back on the sword. For the moment… well, he was just going to have to try and get some sleep. It had been too damned long of a day.

-o-o-o-

Andromeda could hear her sister well before she appeared before her. Her steps were loud, angry, her breath heavy and she slammed every door behind her. When she appeared, her lips were curled back into a snarl, her eyes wild and angry with her hair in disarray.

"Is there a problem, sister?" The words left her lips before she could even help herself, before she looked over exactly what her sister was wearing.

Ah. She had made her move on the Storm Chaser. And it had not gone to her expectations.

She was not, however, expecting her sister to answer, not with words, but a scream of frustration.

"That bad?" Andromeda arched a brow as her sister took a moment to take slow, deep breaths before finally calming down enough to speak coherently.

"Apparently I dressed 'too old fashioned'," Bellatrix stated through gritted teeth as she took a slow deep breath. "As he grew up in muggle society, 'the skirt was just too much.' He calls this too old fashioned!"

As Bellatrix gestured to her skirts, Andromeda was absently nodding her head as she distractedly stated. "For the muggleborn and half-bloods it is."

Both sisters froze, though; while Andromeda's eyes widened, Bellatrix's narrowed as she looked at her sister dangerously. "And… exactly how do you know this?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Andromeda stated as she averted her eyes completely away from her sister. Reflexively, her eyes flicked only for an instant towards her closet. Unfortunately, the instant was enough for Bellatrix to follow her gaze.

"… Sister… exactly what have you done?" Bellatrix stated slowly as she assumed her full height, looking down at her almost identical sister.

"… As I said, sister, I have no idea what you could possibly mean." Andromeda insisted, unable to fully meet her sister's gaze.

Bellatrix, however, followed the direction of her sister's reflexive look from before and began to purposely walk towards the closet. Andromeda's eyes immediately widened in response and she stood up straighter as she moved to bodily intercept her sister.

"There is nothing in there that concerns you, sister!" Andromeda stated swiftly as she stood there, firmly in front of her sister, with her eyes visibly fighting off panic.

When the sudden stiffening of the body bind hex caused her to turn into a human statue, the panic in her eyes became rampant. As she could feel her body starting to fall, she almost missed the cushioning charm that let her land gently on the ground. Helpless, she could only watch and blink as Bellatrix stepped over her and reached the closet.

Then there was silence, broken only by the sound of the door being opened and her sister stepping inside.

Cold dread terror swelled up in her stomach. Bellatrix was going to find out! Her family would find out! She was about to be thrown out!

Andromeda Black had known that she would end up marrying her boyfriend, Ted Tonks, since just before the end of term at Hogwarts. She had also known that as soon as that was revealed to the rest of her family, she would be cast out. Ted Tonks was, after all, a mudblood to them, and Toujours Pur. The Blacks had to be pure.

No matter what her sister thought, the family's stance on that would not change so quickly. Her mother and aunt had proven that. Her uncle might have displayed a brief spark of defiance to her aunt, backed by Uncle Charlus, but it wouldn't last.

She had thought she'd at least be able to graduate Hogwarts first, though.

"What are these?" Bellatrix's voice was not as angry as it had been; there was more genuine curiosity in it. "And, is this a… dress? But it's so… tiny."

Oh, sweet Morgana, of course her sister would find her dress with the mini skirt right off the bat.

"… And are these are pants of some kind. But they're… wouldn't they just… cling?" Now Andromeda could hear the blush in her sister's voice. "And what manner of material is this?"

As it stood, Andromeda was rather helpless and quite unable to respond to her sister's questions.

"Is… is this what he was talking about? I… never knew muggle fashion was so… so…" There was a pause before Andromeda suddenly found herself able to move again. "Andromeda, sister… are these muggle clothes?"

Slowly, warily, Andromeda stood facing away from her sister for a moment, before collecting herself and keeping her face carefully blank. When she turned to face Bellatrix, she didn't find the anger an accusation she was expecting. Instead, she found only confusion and vulnerability.

"Is… is this why he didn't want me?" Bellatrix asked, her voice small as she clutched at the dress she'd found. "Because… I wasn't wearing something like this?"

Andromeda was left suddenly feeling almost as lost and uncertain as Bellatrix looked. As long as she could remember, Bellatrix had been a strong personality, almost refusing to show even the slightest weakness. To see her like this…

Sighing, Andromeda looked at her sister and comparted the dress with what she was wearing. "I… could only guess it's more about what it represents. As you said, he is a half blood, and, as you also said, he grew up in the muggle world. If you don't know enough about the muggle world to fit in, how could you be with a man who apparently is very comfortable there?"

Privately she rather doubted it was the case. The man likely didn't believe she was any different from the would-be thug and murderer he had stopped her from becoming. It disturbed her on some level to see the man whom had casually slaughtered the Knights of Walpurgis and had used her sister as his messenger, become the object of Bellatrix's desires.

"Truly?" The hope and life suddenly seemed to bubble back up in to her sister's eyes.

It disturbed her, but it did not surprise her.

"It might be," Andromeda agreed with a slight nod as she continued to watch her sister like she was an irritated viper.

"You can help me then, can't you?" Bellatrix stated, an eager hunger in her eyes as she leaned forward. "You have these; you must know more!"

Andromeda stared back at her sister, eyes wide and blinking. "… Sister… Bellatrix, are you asking me to… teach you how to go muggle?"

When Bellatrix nodded eagerly, Andromeda slowly rubbed her forehead. This… was not what she expected. Looking back at the eagerness in Bellatrix's eyes, she wondered if perhaps exile would have been preferable.

-o-o-o-

"So, what do you think?" Charlus asked as he looked over his tumbler of whiskey at Lucius Potter.

"I have no thoughts I wish to dwell on," Lucius stated as he sipped upon his own drink.

"And those you don't want to dwell upon?" Charlus pressed quietly.

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of not dwelling upon them?" Lucius asked rhetorically before Charlus' look made him snort. "He is… not exactly what I was expecting."

"Heh," Charlus nodded his head in agreement. "Harry seems quite happy to defy expectations, both good and ill."

"He is crass, blunt, and unsophisticated," Lucius stated simply. "But, also skilled, pragmatic, and…"

"Too much like you?" Charlus finished, clearly amused.

"I am sure I do not need to acknowledge what you might be implying, do I, cousin?" Lucius asked with a dangerous narrowing of his eyes.

"Of course not, cousin, of course not." Charlus' amusement did not falter in the slightest.

Lucius stared, unamused at him for a long moment, before sighing as he slumped back. "The size of that beast… To think it was hiding under Hogwarts all these years, and in the girl's loo of all places!"

"Indeed," Charlus agreed, sobriety quickly returning to his features as he leaned back. "And he managed to kill it."

"While impregnating that blade with its venom." Lucius shuddered a bit at the thought. "A sword like that… I doubt there's much it could not destroy. Horcruxes be damned, that thing could likely carve through the most heavily warded items in existence."

"Which is what these Horcruxes are, unfortunately," Charlus agreed with a grimace of distaste, before the sound of the floo flashing hit them. "Also, I took the liberty of inviting my nephew and his brother in law."

"… Must you?" Lucius asked with a measure of distaste wrinkling over his features. "I know you have assured me that they have been forced to take stock of their situation, but…"

"I believe that, in the end, this will benefit us all." Charlus stated seriously before walking over to the floo and answering. "Yes?"

"You know who it is, Uncle," Cygnus Black stated back through the floo with a look of ill pleasure. "You were the one who insisted upon this, after all."

"I do have to take at least some precautions, nephew," Charlus stated before stepping back, wand at the ready as he lightly gestured for Lucius to do the same. "Whenever you're ready."

And in a flash, Cygnus and then Orion Black appeared before them, both dusting off ash from their clothing. After a moment, Orion's eyes found Lucius' and he inclined his head in greeting. "Potter."

"Black," Lucius agreed, raising his glass lightly but making no move to rise from his seat.

"Do take a seat," Charlus advised as he gestured to the empty chairs across from Lucius' and his own as he retook it. "I believe we have a great deal to discuss."

Sighing, Cygnus waited for Orion to be seated before setting himself and speaking. "You implied something akin to an alliance."

"I do believe that you now understand that 'serving' under this 'Lord Voldemort' would not be in your best interests," Charlus stated. "And that his influence upon our society would do neither of our beliefs much good."

"A point," Orion stated as he leaned back in his seat, elbows resting on the arms and fingers steepling in front of his face. "And in light of recent revelations, I find it prudent to… reevaluate my family's priorities."

"Truly?" Lucius asked as he arched a brow towards Orion. "I find that… surprising."

Orion grimaced in distaste. "We have three lords. All of them half-bloods. Each of them capable of dispatching any of us if pressed to. Likely without too much effort if what I saw was valid…"

"Oh?" Lucius asked as he tilted his head to the side. "I have yet to see either in action. Care to elaborate?"

"It took me over a week to track down even references to some of the spells Riddle used," Orion stated with a shudder. "Spells that have been lost for generations. Even one would've been impressive. To use the number he did? It is, I will admit, terrifying."

"And yet," Cygnus continued quietly as he settled back into his seat, "it was not he who was the victor. Storm Chaser… I freely admit, I'm not sure how he did what he did. To have created and guided so many of those constructs all at once. To take a curse like fiendfyre and turn it back upon its caster…"

"It was…" Orion paused a moment before his face twisting into displeasure. "It was like being caught up in a whirlwind. It was all we could to do simply stay out of the way and survive. If we had been the actual targets of that abomination, we would not still be here if the Storm Chaser had not been there."

"Harry is an interesting fellow," Charlus agreed with a nod of his head. "Before, though, what other methods do you know of for the destruction of one of these horcruxes?"

"Fiendfyre." Orion stated without hesitation. "The Killing Curse."

"… Beyond that?" Lucius asked carefully as he eyed the Blacks. "There must be…"

"Obscure rituals, and magics that destroy the soul or expel it. Or ones that destroy and consume magic. That's why basilisk venom works. It destroys everything, even the magic binding the soul fragment." Orion stated simply as he wearily leaned back in his sea. "And yes, ever since they were first mentioned, I've taken the time to go back over the records. Your Storm Chaser has hit upon a rather ideal method of destroying them."

"An expensive method," Lucius stated sourly. "Not to mention dangerous."

"He still lives, and he now has the blade," Cygnus stated with a canting of his head. "Does anything else matter?"

"He is a Potter," Lucius stated flatly. "As such, my responsibility to look after, in case he does something so foolish as to get himself killed, it should be despite my efforts to prevent it, not due to him simply doing something insanely life threatening and not bothering to inform me of it until it is entirely too late for me to do anything about it!"

"So, you wish for him to stop being a Potter?" Charlus asked, hiding his smile behind his glass.

Cygnus coughed to cover his laugh while even Orion's lips twitched slightly, but then he sighed. "I don't know if 'Storm Chaser' or 'Storm Bringer' is more accurate. Where he goes, everything is left on chaos in his wake. Everything tossed up into the air, left to fall into chaos and uncertainty, even beliefs held onto for generations."

"That can be a good thing," Lucius noted quietly as he looked back at the man, then quietly sipped at his drink.

"Where we come from helps make up who we are," Orion countered back. "We follow after our fathers and their fathers before them. If we do not honor where we come from, what becomes the point of even having a history?"

"To learn from it and build upon it," Charlus answered this time as he looked back, staring not at Orion but at Cygnus. "Our fathers will always be our fathers; they teach us what they have learned but it is up to us to build upon it, to grow it beyond what it was before us."

"It was good enough for them." Orion snapped back, sinking into his chair, glowering quietly at Charlus.

"And tell me, do you want what you have to be good enough for your sons?" Lucius asked back quietly as he looked piercingly at Orion. "Because I know that what I want for James is far more than this. I want him to rise up, to surpass me, to be better than me."

Orion opened his mouth to protest before remembering the lingering darkness of his home and the look of stubborn determination on Sirius' face when he'd asked to see the memories. Was this the life he wished for his son? If he'd been asked not long ago, it would've been yes.

Now, though? Now he didn't really know. The world had suddenly become a confusing, terrifying place. It was filled with men that could cut down men, wizards, like grain before the thresher. Men who could, would, end his line.

The past glories could not save them. Following after the vengeance hungering hypocrite would not save them. No, instead he could see now it would simply hasten their destruction. Change had come, and no longer was what they knew certain.

"I do not think that the past should be forsaken," Cygnus spoke up, his voice careful and measured as he voiced his own thoughts, "but we cannot be so focused upon it that we do not see the present, and cannot look to where we are headed. The glories of the past, of our forbearers, are just that: the glories of the past.

"We cannot live on them. They are not ours, they are the laurels of those whom we came from, and now, I find myself thinking we ill honor them by resting upon them."

"Well said, nephew, well said," Charlus agreed with a nod of his head as he sipped his drink. "It is too easy to forget that there is a whole world out there beyond these simple isles we make our home upon. We might fail to make our own mark upon them, but we leave a chance to our children, their children, and beyond. Can we ask for more?"

"To live to see it?" Orion asked rhetorically as he looked at his drink before sighing softly. "But, for my sons and the future they might have… We each have a legacy to protect. And perhaps… perhaps that is what we should've been doing. Protecting the future instead of seeking to take it from others."

"They are someone's child," Lucius stated quietly. "For good or ill. They are someone's child. That is why we do not rush to spilling blood. But, so are we, and for our children, we will not flinch from it when they come for ours. A fine line to follow. A dangerous one to track."

"But one that it is necessary," Charlus agreed. "Otherwise you become either the monster in the dark that you fought against, or you stand there, with bare throat, waiting to be prey. We may not always be hunters, but we will never be prey. Tell me, cousin, will you?"

Orion stared back at Charlus, fingers clenching upon the glass in his grip and staring back at him, before releasing a slow, sharp hiss of breath. "No, cousin, I will not."

"Then, I believe we have much more to discuss," Lucius stated simply as he leaned forward. "And even more work to do."

Silently, Orion nodded in agreement.

-o-o-o-

Balefully Voldemort turned his gaze across the small clutch of muggle homes. They were nothing of importance. In fact, they had been selected more at whim and fancy than anything.

But, they would make an excellent testing ground.

He didn't even bother looking behind him as he spoke, gesturing. "Go. Kill them. Kill them all."

The figure that followed his command moved with a convulsing, twitching gait, seeming to suddenly, jerkily snap from movement to movement. Fingers, arms curled back against its chest, as if reflexively protecting it as empty reddened eyes stared, bug eyed and open at the buildings in front of it. Its lips pulled back, thin and tight against its gums, revealing bloody, and almost rotting flesh surrounding jagged, uneven teeth.

Then it opened its mouth, then let loose a hissing, warbling sound, like a high pitched whistle, before it surged forward and suddenly pressed its hands against the frame of the door on the first building.

Immediately a twisting, rust colored miasma surged out from beneath its touch, rapidly spreading across the walls of the home. And as it passed, wood, stone and metal twisted and warped. Glass cracked and shattered as windows were crushed, and shingles bowed down as the roof seemed to collapse in on itself.

Then the screams began. Raw, pure terror ripped out of the throats of an entire family. Standing a distance away, Voldemort closed his eyes and savored the sounds before, one by one, they were suddenly, violently, cut off.

From the broken window, something with long, spidery limbs emerged, skittering about with a girl's head with long, limp hair hiding empty, gaping sockets rimmed with teeth as its jaw hung open, with a bulging sack of eyes staring out, blinking and looking seemingly everywhere at once.

A fist ripped through a wall, a heavy, thick knuckled, brutish thing, its flesh torn back to reveal bloody bone. Following it, shoulders hunched forward, spine pronounced, every vertebrae pushing up, almost breaking the skin. Its jaw was exaggerated, thick, heavy with boar-like tusks. If one looked closely enough, however, they could see that the body vaguely showed evidence that it had once been female.

Behind it stumbled what looked to be a man, long strips of leathery flesh hanging off of it, tipped in bony hooks as hand-like feet gripped at the ground. His face was impossibly stretched out and long, eyes held open by straps and hooks as they also held his mouth pulled wide into a mockery of a grin. When the brute in front of it stepped too close, its arms flashed out and, with a crack, the strips of leather flash flayed across the brute's arms, making it squeal and retreat.

Voldemort stared at them for a moment before smiling, his lips curling back as he began to slowly, darkly, let loose a burning, twisted laugh.

"You think you can keep them safe, Storm Chaser? You think you can steal their fear of me?" His unnatural eye burned as he watched his creation move to repeat the same process at a second home. "Fine."

He paused, his words soft as he let the darkness and shadows wrap about him. "But let us see how you fare against fears, nightmares made flesh and blood, hmm? How will you save them, against all the things the dark, wretched pits a mortal mind can conjure up?"

When his creation turned his head, he looked back at Voldemort and screamed. Or at least as close to screaming as he could and jerked his hands back. Instantly, the house seemed to snap back together, shuddering there where it stood. Then it quivered once and collapsed.

In that same jerking, distorted movement, he moved hands again curled back against his chest.

Behind him, Voldemort smiled, watching. The fool could chase all the storms he wanted. Voldemort would bring the nightmares to drown them out into nothing.

-o-o-o-

Harry sighed as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the silvered length in front of him. The goblin forged blade caught the light, shining brightly along its edge. He could use it, take it up to the seventh floor and into the Room of Requirement. Just one little stroke and the deed would be done and, with it, his need to remain at Hogwarts.

"An interesting piece, Mr. Potter," Albus Dumbledore's voice intruded upon his thoughts. "I find myself wondering what you plan to do with it."

Stiffening in response, Harry slowly turned his head and affixed the man with a hard look. "And I find myself wondering if suddenly the bounds of personal privacy have stopped holding any meaning for you."

"When I find one of my teachers meeting with non-staff members in a clandestine manner before somehow vanishing from the sight of the wards, a feat that should, I admit, not be possible, their meaning changes dramatically. When he then meets with a most recent graduate, a young woman, alone in his quarters, it changes even more."

Harry snorted softly at that. "Ms. Black somehow came to the belief that it would be a grand idea to come to my room for the purpose of my seduction. I disabused her of the notion, I assure you."

"And you and your family's disappearance?" Dumbledore asked, pressing firmly as he stared back at Harry.

Only, Harry stared back, directly into Dumbledore's eyes, his gaze both daring and warning.

And Dumbledore would admit some slight bit of intimidation. Few were those whom would meet his eyes that way. Knowledge plain in them that he both knew of Dumbledore's skill at Legimency and warned him that it's use would not be tolerated.

"They brought me the blade so I could kill the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, thereby impregnating it with its venom." Harry answered as blandly as he could.

"… To what purpose?" Dumbledore asked, neither belief nor disbelief tinting his tone.

"Because it's the safest method of a destroying a Horcrux I know of." Harry answered as he looked down the length of the blade. "Quickest, too."

"Horcrux." There was a look of fascinated horror on Dumbledore's face. "You… this… Such a thing is beyond horrendous."

"Yes," Harry agreed with a nod, "but that is the kind of man Tom Riddle is."

Instead of looking surprised, Dumbledore merely looked resigned. "I had suspected something of the sort from him. I had hoped to be wrong."

"I've found two of them," Harry stated simply. "One of them, in fact, hidden in this school."

"WHAT?!" The light in Dumbledore's eyes exploded like a star as he stood up straight and demanded. "WHERE?!"

"Secret room on the seventh floor," Harry answered, not looking even the slightest bit intimidated or surprised by the display of emotion on Dumbledore's face. "It's been responsible for your inability to keep a defense teacher for more than a year lately."

Dumbledore stared at him before sighing wearily as his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I had suspected such, however I could find no evidence of such a spell. No curse, no jinx, no hex, no ward, no enchantment, nothing."

"Riddle is a genius," Harry admitted freely as he shook his head. "Especially when it comes to the more esoteric of dark arts. I wouldn't be surprised you couldn't find it."

"I am, if you will recall, Mr. Potter, somewhat learned in those esoteric arts myself." Dumbledore noted with a slight bit of amusement. "It is no small feat to find something I have not."

"Not if you're unwilling to reach into the dark places no sane man would step foot into," Harry stated and shook his head. "You represent the best the past can offer, ancient magics that require skill and discipline beyond what most can imagine. Voldemort… the worst. The depraved, the uncaring."

"And where, Mr. Potter, does that leave you?" Dumbledore stated pointedly.

"Someone who stumbled around blindly until he found a path that led not to the past and the secrets waiting to be rediscovered, but one that was forged by his own footfalls." Harry stated it simply as he chuckled slightly. "I tried something new. As luck would have it, it worked."

"And, if you know not the secrets of the past, then how do you know that your path is your own and not one merely overgrown since it was last tread?" Dumbledore countered back with a slight smile on his face.

"If it's over grown and gone, is it really a path still?" Harry shot back before shrugging a bit. "But it hardly matters. I didn't follow any of those old secrets to get where I am."

"A point, perhaps," Dumbledore admitted before sighing as he leaned back, watching Harry warily. "Of late I seem to find myself on the receiving end of lectures with an unsettling frequency."

"Oh?" Harry asked, arching a brow up slightly but saying nothing else as he waited for him to continue.

"Indeed," he agreed, humming for a moment into the silence that lingered between them and before continuing. "I am not a warrior, Mr. Potter. I am a teacher, an instructor. And perhaps above all else, a scholar."

"Most people aren't warriors, Headmaster." Harry stated simply quietly as he tilted his head to the side. "And those that are… tend become one of four things."

"Oh?" It was Dumbledore's turn to arch a brow, prompting Harry to continue.

"Something else, very dead, very broken, or very good." Harry stated simply and softly as he looked at the Headmaster. "Most fall into the first three categories. Too few into the last."

"And where does that leave you, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked quietly as he looked at the man.

"Sometimes, I think, the last. Most, I think the third," Harry admitted simply as he tilted his head to the side and stared back at the blade. "Of course, those that knew me always told me it was the last."

"… Do you enjoy killing, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked softly as he stared back at Harry intently.

"I take neither pleasure nor displeasure from taking a life, Albus Dumbledore," Harry stated softly as he looked back into the man's eyes. "It simply is. A man who has willingly raised his hand to intentionally strike down another, to intend to kill, maim, or torture, will willingly do so again. And if they have raised that hand against me, they will even more willingly do it to another.

"So I cut them down and leave their fate those waiting on the other side." Harry tilted his head to the side. "If they find damnation or redemption there, it is not my choice to make."

"They could still change their ways. They could still do good," Dumbledore pressed as he stared back at Harry.

"Could they? Perhaps. Would they? Perhaps," Harry agreed with a nod of his head before shrugging again. "But, if the world were fair, would they have become what they did?"

Dumbledore sighed as he looked back at Harry. "That is not a view I can endorse, Mr. Potter."

"As long as you take responsibility for the repercussions the actions your views limit you to." Harry responded simply as he shook his head.

"Repercussions?" Dumbledore asked with a brow arched.

"You could cut down an opponent in a moment. Capturing him alive will take you five minutes," Harry stated softly. "One of your allies was killed in three minutes after you focused on capturing your opponent. If you had cut down that opponent, you would have been able to save your ally and more.

"Bloody math," Harry stated simply and shook his head. "Mercy requires a position of unquestionable superiority, Professor. Without it, in battle it costs more blood than it saves."

"Life is more than a set of numbers to run, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore stated with a frown creasing his face. "It cannot be so coldly assessed and distilled."

"In war it is." Harry responded back with a sad shake of his head. "But your belief is why you should not be involved in war. Clinging so tightly to those ideals… while admirable, it'll only cause more problems than it solves."

"And you would instead have me do nothing?" Dumbledore asked, a tinge of anger rippling through his voice.

"I would think that healing and protecting would be something you'd find preferable," Harry stated blandly instead. "And researching."

Dumbledore twitched slightly at that statement before slightly inclining my head. "Yes, I would, however…"

"You're no longer the only one Voldemort fears." Harry stated quietly as he looked back at Dumbledore. "You're no longer the only one he knows could beat him. End him. This war, it is not yours to fight on the front lines. Stay where you'd do the best."

"And what of you then? Would you not, as you said, be best out there, on the front lines then?" Dumbledore asked, arching a brow. "Instead of here, in this school?"

"A hammer that knows not where to strike damages what it does not mean to and itself," Harry stated ruefully. "One of my teachers used to tell me that. I'm not a hunter, Headmaster. I'm a fighter. I leave it to the hunters to find him for me, or for him to give me an opening I can exploit."

"I… see," Dumbledore said while his voice clearly showed he didn't.

"I've done most of what I could against him as it stands," Harry stated softly. "I have no way of tracking him. I don't have any connections. I don't have any experience casting the kind of spells that would be necessary to find him. So I have to leave that to those that do. In the meantime, I might as well do something useful."

Dumbledore merely stared at him for a moment before sighing softly. "I again feel the need to ask to continue this another day. Instead, perhaps you should see about taking care of that…. objective you had that blade created for."

Harry glanced back at Dumbledore before arching a brow a bit. "You mean, you want to know what secret room its hiding in that you never found it."

Coughing softly Dumbledore looked back at Harry, the slightest tug of his lips rising up. "I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, I'm not sure what you could be implying."

"Of course," Harry agreed with a snort before standing up and resting his hand on the hilt of the blade. "Though, do you really want to have to watch the destruction of Ravenclaw's Diadem?"

Dumbledore stared back at Harry, frozen in place as his face slowly drained of color. "… what?"

"Tom Riddle was a very, very persuasive and too intelligent man," Harry stated simply. "He convinced the ghost of person who stole the diadem to tell him where she hid it."

"And he made it into one of his horcruxes." Dumbledore finished the implied statement with a sigh as he slumped forward. "What other sacrilege has he performed?"

"Too many," Harry stated sadly and shook his head. "By now… I imagine he's done the same to Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket."

"… How do you know this?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes piercing and sharp as he stared back at Harry.

"… Maybe one day I will you tell you, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," Harry answered quietly as he stood, holding the blade gently in his hand. "But that day is not today. Shall we see to the horcrux?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed in distaste towards Harry, but he none-the-less nodded his head and followed after him.