A Vampire's Soul

A Vampire’s Soul, chapter eleven

Pairings: Harry/Draco, Harry/Ron, slight Harry/Ron/Hermione, Ron/Hermione, Harry/others

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Vampires, so there’s blood mentioned; Slash; some Het, and multi-partners.

Words: About 5,020

Notes: Trying to do things different in this fic than others. I’m trying to keep things as canon as possible, but if it doesn’t fit with my story, then it’s going out the window.

More notes: This fic won’t be finished before book seven comes out – I have things all worked out now, so I’ll just let you know now that this fic is post-HBP, and if I end up guessing certain things right for the next book, then I count myself lucky.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and its characters, nor do I own anything from Dracula.

.-.

Hermione sighed as she rolled onto her side and drifted off to sleep. Harry licked his fangs, staring at Ron. Hermione’s blood dripped slowly down Harry’s chin and Ron couldn’t help but stare at it, mesmerized. Strangely enough, he didn’t even flinch when some of that blood dripped onto his bare chest.

“Your turn,” Harry purred, eyes glowing in the dimly lit bedroom.

Ron wiped some of the blood off Harry’s chin with his thumb and stuck it into his mouth. Harry’s pupils went wide and his breathing labored.

“That was the sexiest fucking thing I ever seen,” Harry groaned.

Ron smiled. Then Harry was above him, spreading Ron’s legs, rubbing his achingly hard cock against Ron’s and Ron made a soft noise in his throat. Harry gazed intensely at that throat as he thrust frantically against Ron; Ron’s head tilted up, exposing every bit of his neck to Harry.

Ron whispered Harry’s name and it drove him crazy. Using wandless, wordless magic, Harry slicked up Ron quickly. Ron brought one leg up to wrap around Harry’s waist as Harry rubbed the head of his cock, slippery with lube, around Ron’s hole. This will be the first time he would ever take Ron, and that thought helped heighten his arousal and he pushed the tip of his cock inside Ron’s body. Ron gasped and his body tensed, but Harry was having none of it and he grabbed a fistful of Ron’s hair, brought their eyes together, and willed Ron to relax. Ron obeyed without question under Harry, and with one careful, attentive movement, Harry was in completely.

He didn’t put Ron under an intense spell, so Ron reacted so brilliantly that Harry moaned at the feel of Ron around his cock and he began to move. Harry lowered his face to Ron’s neck, inhaling that sweet smell of pure blood, and Ron gained all his senses back. Ron hissed at the feel of Harry pumping in and out of him, but didn’t stop. Instead, Ron joined Harry’s thrusting. He brought his hips up to meet Harry’s, and Harry’s balls slapped against Ron’s arse. With his heel, Ron tried helping Harry go deeper, faster; longer.

“Harry,” he groaned hoarsely. “I’m going to—”

“Yes,” growled Harry, and he sank his fangs into Ron’s warm flesh.

.-.

It was late, but Harry couldn’t sleep. It was like this almost every time he had blood and it was dark out. He slowly started to realize that he slept better in the afternoons, when the sun was high in the sky.

Ron and Hermione were still in a deep sleep on either side of him, recovering. Harry’s mind was in a whirl as he lay there, pondering if he should get out of bed or stay there and wait for morning. Dawn wasn’t actually too bad for him; it wasn’t quite day just yet, the light just beginning to shine dimly on the Earth. After thinking on things for a while, Harry decided to get up.

He eased his way from between his two best friends and quietly made his way out. He didn’t even process the chill of the floor. Out in the hallway, he paused to stare at the door across from him. Draco Malfoy’s bedroom. His body twitched and shivered at the thought of going in and getting close to Malfoy, his so-called soulmate.

After a minute, Harry shook his head clear. Now was not the time to be losing his head. Besides, as far as he knew, Malfoy still wasn’t speaking to him. If he went in there now, there was a good chance that he’d anger Malfoy even more and that was something he didn’t want to risk.

He turned, making his way toward the staircase, when an odd feeling came over him. The door to his left, which was the door to Ron’s bedroom, made Harry feel uneasy. He took a few steps toward it and realized immediately that whatever was inside Ron’s room was making him feel like this.

It couldn’t be Ron because Ron was still in Harry’s bed sleeping next to Hermione. Unsure if he should go in, Harry stared at the doorknob. He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at it, but finally he put a hand on the doorknob and turned it softly.

The door creaked, making Harry jump, but then he recalled that most of the doors in Grimmauld Place creaked, so he shouldn’t be surprised. Keeping the door ajar, Harry peeked one eye through the opening.

He could still sense something was off, but he couldn’t smell any living humans in the room. Courage set, Harry opened the door all the way and stepped inside. He was about to light a candle on the bedside table, but something stopped him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a glow. It was faint, but it was there, and he knew that there was no way he was seeing things. He turned abruptly on the spot and stared at where the glow had come from. There, on the dresser, were two objects: a cup and a locket.

Locket? Harry was across the room in only a few strides and then he was staring at what was unmistakably Slytherin’s Locket. Where the bleeding hell did this come from? He stared, not touching it, and tried to remember if anyone had said anything to him about finding it. No, no one had told him about it. Harry wondered if he should feel annoyed, but then decided to just go downstairs and ask Remus about it.

He was sure that Remus and Scrimgeour were still downstairs, talking. If not, at least Scrimgeour was. That thought made his soul sing and, forgetting about the Horcrux for now, Harry hastened himself out of the room and down the stairs.

Harry was right. Scrimgeour was still there, sitting on the couch. Remus must have gone to bed. When Harry’s feet reached the bottom step, Scrimgeour’s nostrils flared. Harry walked in slowly, and Scrimgeour stood and turned to face him.

“Harry,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Sire,” said Harry, moving forward.

Harry closed the distance between them; he wrapped his arms around Scrimgeour’s shoulders and Scrimgeour had his around Harry, and together they fell onto the couch.

“Am I ever so glad that Dumbledore changed Secret Keepers of this place, otherwise I’d never be able to be here, even if I was invited in.”

“Huh?”

“A vampire can’t enter a person’s house unless they’re invited in.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Harry. He sighed and buried his face into Scrimgeour’s neck. “I don’t know how to tell everyone about you . . . . What should I say?”

“You’ll know when the time comes,” said Scrimgeour softly, stroking Harry’s hair. “In the meantime, why don’t you tell me who your soulmate is.”

Shocked, Harry removed himself from his Sire’s embrace, stood, and then walked over to the fireplace. He laid a hand on the mantle and placed his forehead on the back of his hand.

Scrimgeour didn’t say anything; he just stared at Harry, waiting for him to speak.

“How’d you find out?” Harry finally said.

Scrimgeour stared for a moment, and then the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Remus told me.”

Harry glowered into the fire.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Scrimgeour, standing from the couch. “I’m glad he told me you have one.”

“I wanted to tell you,” said Harry, irritated. “He had no right to…”

“He thought he was doing the right thing. You can’t blame him for that.”

“Damn werewolf…”

Scrimgeour sighed. “I know that he’s your friend, Harry, but it is a little hard for me to be around him for long. I’m actually surprised I held out as long as I did.”

Harry looked up in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I felt like attacking him,” explained Scrimgeour. “I think Remus knew this too, that’s why he went to bed sooner than he planned to.”

“How long were you down here by yourself?” said Harry, feeling bad that he left his Sire alone while he was having his fun with his friends.

“Only for about an hour. But it’s ok; you’re here now.”

Harry looked back into the fire. “What else did Remus say?”

“Only that he’s worried about you and how you’ll be able to handle this on top of the You-Know-Who thing.”

Harry scowled. “I know there are many that’re worried about me, but I can take care of myself.”

“Like you did in the Black Forest?”

Harry glared at him.

“Simmer down, I was only taking the mickey.”

Harry sighed, wandered over to the armchair, and sat down heavily. “If I had known there were vampires around the Horcrux, just waiting for someone to take it…”

“I don’t think they were really waiting for someone to take it,” said Scrimgeour. “I think they were just in the general area at the time…”

Harry shook his head. “No. If they were, wouldn’t they have attacked me and my friends long before I picked up the cup?”

“I don’t know,” said Scrimgeour. “Unless they knew that someone was bound to come along and take it. But I’m getting ahead of myself here—you hadn’t answered my question.”

“What question?” said Harry.

“About who your soulmate is.”

Harry turned his head to stare into the fire again. He really didn’t want to tell Scrimgeour about Draco, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell anyone else about Scrimgeour. He didn’t know why he didn’t want to tell anyone, just that he didn’t. It felt so … private. But keeping something like this from others probably wasn’t a good idea. It might end up causing more trouble and heartache.

“Fine,” he sighed, turning back around to meet Scrimgeour’s eyes. “I’ll tell you. But you must swear to me that you won’t hurt him.”

Scrimgeour nodded. “I promise not to hurt him. I’m not allowed to, anyway.”

“Not allowed to?”

“It’s Daywalker law,” Scrimgeour elucidated. “If a Daywalker were to ever find himself or herself the perfect mate, otherwise known as a soulmate or Perfect Blood Doll, then other Daywalkers weren’t allowed to harm or injure or do anything of the sort to them.”

“Perfect Blood Doll?”

“Yes. That is the old name given to them. It’s a Blood Doll that is, shall we say, extra sweet.”

Harry’s mind went into overdrive. Thoughts of biting Malfoy now danced around in his head; piercing that long, beautiful neck and dark, shining, delectable blood oozing out and onto his tongue. Harry had to lick his lips to wipe the drool from them.

“That’s why he smells so good to me that it’s been so hard resisting.”

“You haven’t bitten him yet?” gasped Scrimgeour. “You must have a stronger will than I thought.”

Harry felt his face go warm. “Er, well . . . . We did have sex.”

Scrimgeour’s eyebrows rose. “You had sex with your soulmate, but you hadn’t bitten him? What is keeping you?”

Harry frowned, shaking his head sadly. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t have a clue . . . . Every time I come close to biting him, something stops me… something…” Harry sucked in his breath and stared at Scrimgeour with wide eyes. “Tears.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tears!” said Harry excitedly, standing up. “Malfoy was crying when… oops.”

Scrimgeour smiled. “Malfoy? As in, Draco Malfoy? He is your Perfect Blood Doll?”

“Soulmate,” snarled Harry, his fists clenching. “I haven’t had his blood yet, remember?”

“Right, of course,” smirked Scrimgeour. “But he honestly keeps crying every time you try to bite him?”

Harry sighed, feeling annoyed with himself. “Yes. Is that normal?”

Scrimgeour pursed his lips, the fire shining brightly in his eyes.

“Not all Daywalkers have that weakness. The most common weaknesses are music, sex, and water.”

“Water?”

Scrimgeour nodded. “Yes. Water is a purifier, even if it’s not holy water, and bathing in it or drinking it or anything like that calms the monster inside us and keeps our souls from defecting.”

“No wonder I felt so much better after drinking some water from the river.”

Scrimgeour nodded again. “Yes. And music, as you have probably heard about, soothes the savage beast. And sex, well…”

Harry blushed. “Yeah, sex calms me. Calms my beast, I mean.”

“And music?”

Harry shrugged. “Not sure. I don’t think that’s happened to me yet. I know that before I was Turned, the phoenix song would always make me feel better.”

“That’s understandable, seeing how that bird is magical and one of the strongest good creatures that exist. It’s song is also very healing to the soul, and you listening to the phoenix song now, I imagine, would be like walking through the gates of Heaven itself.”

Harry slid his wand out of his robe. “Since my wand’s core is a phoenix feather, does it help my soul at all?”

Scrimgeour sucked on his bottom lip. “Well, I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. My wand’s core is dragon heartstring, so I have no experience in that.”

Harry stared at his wand a while, deep in thought. It was rather interesting to him that even though he was technically undead his wand was still working. Of course, Voldemort was considered to have a half-life and his wand still worked for him. Plus, Voldemort was thought of as immortal, so there was that to consider.

“The wood is holly,” Harry said distantly.

“Really?” said Scrimgeour. He took out his own wand and held it up as if studying it. “Mine is Birch.”

Harry looked over at his Sire and smirked, eyes dancing with something akin to mirth and need. He stowed his wand back into his robe and moved closer to Scrimgeour.

“Your other wand is a redwood.”

Scrimgeour leaned in.

“And you’d know about that . . . .”

“Potter!”

Harry and Scrimgeour jumped. They had been an inch away from kissing when they were interrupted by Malfoy’s shout. They looked around and saw that Malfoy was standing in the doorway of the sitting room, eyes wide and mouth drooping.

“Malfoy!” gasped Harry. For some odd reason, his insides felt frozen.

“What the bloody hell are you doing with the Minister?” Malfoy growled.

“What d’you care?” Harry shot back.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Did I say I did? If you think that Lupin will allow you and the Minister of Magic to snog on the couch—and possibly bite him, no less—then forget it!”

Harry let out a sharp, amusing laugh. It was so hauntingly beautiful, Malfoy’s eyes glossed over.

“Listen, Malfoy . . . you really have no say in what I do, and neither does Remus, so don’t even start coming in here thinking you can order me around.”

“I think once I wake up Lupin and tell him what it is that you’re doing, then we’ll see who has the last laugh…”

“Lupin knows that I’m here with Harry,” said Scrimgeour.

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but the look on Scrimgeour’s face made him think better of it.

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Malfoy turned, about to leave.

“Draco, wait,” said Scrimgeour.

Malfoy stopped mid-step and turned back to face them.

“Yes?” he said coolly.

“Don’t leave on my account.”

Harry’s insides wriggled wildly; he gulped nervously as he looked from Malfoy to his Sire.

“Oh, I’m not leaving because of you,” said Malfoy.

Harry’s insides froze again.

“Honestly, I think I need to get going,” said Scrimgeour.

Harry gasped and looked at Scrimgeour, devastated.

“But, Si—er—Minister, you don’t have to go.”

“I must,” said Scrimgeour sadly. “I am the Minister after all. I need to make sure everything is running smoothly as possible at the Ministry.”

Harry doubted the Ministry ever ran smoothly, but he wasn’t about to contradict his Sire.

“Couldn’t you take a day off, just this once?” Harry pleaded.

Scrimgeour frowned and moved closer to Harry. He placed a gentle hand on Harry’s cheek.

“Only in emergencies. Besides, I don’t want them wondering where I’ve been. It would look suspicious and I don’t want the Daily Prophet coming up with any more wild stories about people.”

Harry knew his Sire was right and that there was nothing he could do to stop him, so he just nodded sadly and stepped back.

“If you must,” he said quietly.

Scrimgeour stepped close to Harry again and put his face right next to Harry’s. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he whispered into Harry’s ear. “And I’ll train you.”

Harry’s cheeks reddened slightly and he nodded.

Scrimgeour glanced over Harry’s head and noticed Draco glaring at them, fists clenched. Scrimgeour smirked; it looked to him as if Draco was fighting off his jealousy.

“I’m sure you and young Malfoy here have a lot to talk about.”

Harry gaped at his Sire, a jolt going through his stomach again.

“But…”

Scrimgeour kissed Harry’s forehead. Malfoy made a gurgling noise in the back of his throat.

“Try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone,” said Scrimgeour, and he suddenly transformed into a wolf. Draco gasped shrilly at the sight. Scrimgeour, in wolf form, made for the door. Harry opened it for him, and he stood there staring after Scrimgeour as he took off into the night.

A hand on his shoulder startled him. He was spun around and then staring into Malfoy’s cold, grey eyes.

“You better have a good explanation for everything I saw just now!”

Harry moved away from Draco, shutting the front door. “What are you babbling about?” he said nonchalantly.

“You bloody well know what I’m babbling—er—talking about! I had walked in on you two about to kiss, that kiss he just gave you on the forehead, the tenderness between you two, and the fact that the Minister of Magic can transform into a wolf! Please tell me he’s an Animagus and not another vampire!”

Harry nearly laughed, but he held himself in check. Although Malfoy’s plight was amusing, he was annoyed with himself—with how submissive he’d been in the last few hours with his Sire, and he vowed to himself that he’d rectify that. He walked, hips gently swaying, toward Malfoy with a gleam in his eye.

Malfoy tried to look unfazed, but the closer Harry got, the more nervous he got.

“Maybe he is another vampire,” said Harry, smirking. “What of it?”

“What of it?” gasped Malfoy. “You—he—we… We don’t need another vampire roaming around! You just had to run off, kill the one that Turned you, and Turn someone else—the Minister, no less—into a vampire!”

Harry stared at Malfoy incredulously, and then burst into laughter. It sounded half-maniacal and half-musical. Malfoy couldn’t help but stare at him.

“Me, Turn the Minister of Magic? That’s a good one, Malfoy!”

Malfoy stared at Harry in confusion as Harry continued to laugh.

“You know,” Malfoy said, “you better be careful with how you laugh, Potter—you’re starting to sound evil.”

Harry stopped laughing. He glared heatedly at Malfoy as he took a heavy step toward him.

“I am NOT evil! And another thing: I didn’t kill the one that Turned me, I killed the one that bit me!”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes, there’s a difference! Or haven’t you been paying attention? The one that bit me was a soulless vampire, the one that Turned me was… is… a Daywalker!”

They stared at one another for a bit, and then Malfoy’s jaw slowly dropped.

“The Minister . . . he’s the one that Turned you! He’s . . . he’s your SIRE!”

“It’s about time you figured it out,” Harry snorted.

“That’s why you two have been so…” Malfoy made a face, “so lovey-dovey toward each other.”

Harry went red. “Shut up, Malfoy! We are NOT lovey-dovey!”

“What do you call it, then?” said Malfoy, turning his back on Harry.

Harry felt something twist in his gut at the way Malfoy was being about his Sire. Was it possible . . . . Was Malfoy jealous?

“Look, I’m sorry if you don’t like it,” said Harry, taking another step toward Malfoy. “But he is my Sire, and . . . well . . . we share blood . . . .”

Malfoy stuck his fingers into his ears. “I don’t want to hear it!”

“But it’s true. I don’t know how it’s true; I can just feel it in my . . . soul. He did something with his own blood in order to Turn me . . . .”

“I said, SHUT UP!” Malfoy cried, swinging around and backhanding Harry in the face. “I don’t want to hear about how close you two are!”

Harry’s head snapped back only an inch, but Harry could actually feel Malfoy’s knuckles connect with his face. Usually when someone or something hit him, he couldn’t feel it. Even when Remus hit him with the Disarming Charm and he hit the wall behind him he couldn’t feel it. Yet, he could actually feel Malfoy’s strike. It sent a shiver along his spine and his stomach clenched painfully. He stared at Malfoy, shocked. Malfoy was looking just as shocked that he had hit Harry.

Recovering quickly, Harry said, “You don’t want to hear about me and my Sire?”

Malfoy kept staring, but Harry noticed that his cheeks went pink. Finally, Malfoy came out of his shock.

“No, I don’t,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to hear about the perverted things you and the Minister get up to.”

Harry held in his laugh. “Look, Malfoy, if you’re jealous of us, just say so…”

“Jealous? I’m not jealous! Where the hell did you get that idea from?”

“If you’re not jealous, then what do you call it? You’re not this way with Ron and Hermione.”

“That’s different,” huffed Malfoy. He turned again to stare into the fire. The embers were glowing softly, slowly going out. “Weasley and Granger are together, and I know that they’re your closest friends.”

Harry stared at Malfoy’s back, trying to make sense of him.

“And?” he said.

“And? There’s no ‘and’, Potter.”

“Ron and Hermione are my Blood Dolls, remember? You’re not jealous about that?”

Malfoy shook his head.

“What about Luna?”

Harry saw Malfoy’s back stiffen.

“What about her?”

“You threw that little temper tantrum after I bit Luna. Tell me that’s not jealousy.”

“That’s not jealousy,” Malfoy deadpanned.

“Bollocks!” shouted Harry. He strode heavily to Malfoy and turned him around to face him. Malfoy looked away. “You’re jealous, I know you are.”

“And you’re crazy, Potter.”

Harry brought his face so close to Malfoy’s that he could see every detail in Malfoy’s skin: every line, every pockmark, every small, white-blond strand of hair.

“I’m not crazy. I know you’re jealous, Malfoy, even if you don’t know it”—Malfoy huffed—“and you can’t stand to see me getting close to someone else; it really hurts you.”

Malfoy exploded.

“I DON’T GIVE A DAMN IF YOU’RE CLOSE TO OTHERS!”

“What’s all this shouting?”

Remus was coming down the stairs, obviously awake. It made Harry realize that the sun was nearly up.

“Sorry to wake you,” said Harry. He knew he wasn’t going to get much else out of Malfoy this morning, so he let it be.

“It’s all right, Harry, I would have woken up soon anyway.” Remus paused, looking from Harry to Malfoy. “You two aren’t fighting, are you?”

Malfoy harrumphed, stuck his nose into the air, and made his way up the staircase.

“I’m going back to bed. Good night.”

“Good night…” said Remus, confused. After watching Draco go up the stairs he turned his gaze back to Harry. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” said Harry, collecting himself. “He’s just being an ass again. Are you making breakfast, then?”

“Sure,” said Remus, ignoring Harry’s clipped tone. “Want anything specific?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Not really. If you want any help…”

“No, thank you, Harry. I can manage. Did Scrimgeour leave?”

Harry looked at the front door.

“Yeah, he did.”

.-.

It was sometime after lunch, after Harry had a nap, when he remembered about Slytherin’s locket.

He snuck into the bedroom Ron was using (although he didn’t sleep in it too often; he was usually in Harry or Hermione’s room), and went straight for the dresser. They were both still there. Harry stood in front of them and stared silently. There was a faint glow again, but he couldn’t tell which one was glowing. When he had first felt it, he thought it was Slytherin’s locket, but now he wasn’t sure.

“There you are, Harry,” said Hermione. She came up behind Harry and wrapped her arms around his middle. Harry tore himself away.

“What do you want?” he asked impassively.

Hermione frowned. “I was just wondering where you were.”

“Hermione, I was just in the sitting room a minute ago.”

“Yes, I know. You left the room, so I was wondering where you were.”

“Well, you found me,” said Harry flippantly. “So now you can go.”

“Why are you acting like this?” she said, trying to get close to Harry. Harry moved away again.

“Don’t, Hermione. I’m thinking.”

“Thinking of what?” she asked.

Harry’s gaze went to the two Horcruxes. Hermione’s eyes followed his.

“Oh, the Horcruxes,” she said. “Of course. I’m sure we’ll find a way to destroy them.”

“It’s not just that,” he said. He walked back to the dresser and picked up the locket. He stared at it as hard as he could, trying to determine if it was the one he had felt earlier. “I thought I had felt something from one of them…”

“Felt something?” gasped Hermione. “What exactly? Perhaps whatever you can feel from them will help you discover how to destroy them.”

“It’s possible,” said Harry. He placed the locket back down next to the cup. “So, where’d we get the locket from?”

“You mean Remus didn’t tell you?”

Harry gave her a look that said ‘are you kidding?’

“Right, so he didn’t,” said Hermione. “Well, Snape came by the other day and dropped it off.”

Harry’s eyes flashed. “Snape?”

“Yeah,” she said, fidgeting. “It was when you were out . . . killing your Biter.”

Harry paced a few times, thinking, and then stopped to look at Hermione. “Where’d he get it?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Does he know anything about R.A.B.?”

“I don’t know,” she said sadly. “Harry—Harry, stop pacing and tell me what’s wrong.”

Harry stopped. He hadn’t realized that he’d been pacing again. He looked at the locket on the dresser; it was definitely the right locket. It was the size of the one he seen in the Pensieve and it had the ornate S on the front.

“Some time earlier I felt—saw—one of these glowing oddly. I could also feel something, but I’m not sure what—”

“Maybe your ability to sense magic has increased. I’ve heard of witches and wizards who are able to sense known magic.”

Harry started, suddenly remembered the time when he was with Dumbledore in the cave:

“Yes, this is the place,” said Dumbledore.

“How can you tell?” said Harry.

“It has known magic,” said Dumbledore simply.

“Known magic,” Harry whispered to himself. He stared at the locket for a while. When nothing happened, he moved his eyes to the cup.

At the precise moment, Harry saw a faint glow around the cup. He gasped loudly, startling Hermione.

“It glowed,” he said, awestruck. He picked up Hufflepuff’s cup. “I don’t know why I can sense the cup glowing and not the locket, but . . . .” Harry lost his train of thought as he continued to stare at the cup. It didn’t glow again, but he could feel something prickling in his fingertips as he held it.

Hermione picked up the locket, but Harry wasn’t paying much attention to her. He kept racking his brains, trying to think of just why he could sense the cup but not the locket.

“Wait a minute,” said Hermione softly. Harry glanced at her. She was scratching at the part of the locket that opened up. “There’s something. . . .” Then she gasped, and Harry wasn’t sure if it was in shock or fear, but the little door on the locket sprang open by itself. Harry nearly dropped the cup in his haste to grab his wand to defend them both from whatever was about to pop out of where there should be a picture, but to their surprise nothing happened.

They stared at it, in Hermione’s hand, anxiously. Then, Hermione got out of her shock first and lightly touched the inside of the locket.

“There’s nothing in it.”

“That’s impossible,” said Harry in a whisper, not believing what he was hearing. “That’s the right one this time, it’s got to be. It looks just like the one I saw in the Pensieve.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s the right one, but there’s nothing in it.”

Harry snatched it out of her hand to examine it. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about it, from what he could tell. Unless…

Harry looked at the back. His hunch was right; there was a small, black hole in the middle of the locket in the back. He put it close to his nose and inhaled deeply. His nose wrinkled from the smell of something like ash.

“He did it,” said Harry in an incredulous tone. “I don’t believe it, but he did it.”

“Who?” said Hermione, bewildered. “What?”

“The R.A.B. bloke,” said Harry. “He actually did it; he destroyed the Horcrux!”

Hermione seemed to finally understand. She nodded, “Yeah, and possibly at the cost of his own life.”

Harry closed his fist over the locket, closing the door on it as he did so.

“That’s why I’ve got to be the only one to destroy the Horcruxes.”

TBC

AN: I know some of you don’t like Scrimgeour (which might later start being called Rufus in later chapters), but the one in the book is the Minister Scrimgeour that shows himself in that way only to those that don’t know he’s a vampire (Luna was right, wasn’t she? LOL). He’s “nicer” because Harry’s his Fledgling, and because he is also learning those little life lessons as he goes along. So, I’m sure you’ll like him better in my fic. He isn’t a bad guy. :)

Thank you all that had replied to my fic and told me that you’re enjoying it! My muse and I thank you!