The Inadequate Life

Harry’s appearance in the kitchen of the House of Black caused half a dozen people seated at the table to jump in alarm. Harry landed hard and almost fell, but managed to catch himself, and George, who’d been standing near where Harry had appeared, caught him. “Thanks, George,” Harry said, straightening himself.

“Back from the Dursleys, then?” Ron muttered dully. “Looks like you swallowed a book,” he added, referring to the odd shape of the box inside Harry’s robes. “And what happened to your head?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the bits of blood left on Harry’s brow, and the redness of the lightning bolt scar.

Harry saw that Ron, Ginny and Hermione were among those in the kitchen, along with George and Fred, Luna and Angelina. “It doesn’t matter,” he said excitedly. “Ron, Ginny, Hermione—we have to talk, right away! Something amazing—” Harry cut himself off when Ginny turned slowly to look at Harry. Her eyes were red and puffy—she’d clearly been crying. “What happened?” Harry asked anxiously.

“Harry,” Hermione said softly when no one else spoke up, “we just got word. Percy is dead.”

“What?” Harry thought he’d heard Hermione incorrectly. “He—what do you mean, Percy’s dead? We handed him over to the Ministry!”

“Exactly,” Angelina said. “The Ministry hasn’t exactly been good at keeping supporters of Voldemort in their custody alive.”

Supporters of Voldemort. It hadn’t even occurred to Harry. Percy had been supplying Voldemort, or at least Fenrir Greyback, with information about Harry and his whereabouts. It had been Percy’s tip that Seamus Finnegan wasn’t actually on the outs with Harry that had led to the confrontation in the Shrieking Shack. That confrontation had resulted in the death of Severus Snape, as well as the complete destruction of the Shrieking Shack, which had burned down to ashes before the Ministry’s officials had arrived. The only consolation had been that Greyback, the sadistic werewolf who was working with Voldemort, had also died in the fire—and it wasn’t much consolation, since Harry was responsible and felt extremely guilty.

Afterwards, Ginny, Ron, Fred and George had gone to confront Percy. They’d questioned him under Veritaserum, and that’s when they’d learned the truth—that Percy had been acting of his own free will, helping Voldemort in the hopes of stamping out the rest of the Weasleys so he could carry on the Weasley name in what he saw as the proper pureblood traditions. The four youngest Weasleys had made the decision to turn Percy over to the Ministry—and that decision had evidently cost Percy his life. No wonder they were so upset. Not to mention that whatever else Percy had been, he’d still been their brother.

Harry sat down next to Ginny, who immediately wrapped her arms around him. She didn’t start crying again, but her grip was fierce. “Is—is there anything I can do?” Harry asked quietly.

Ginny shook her head. “It’s done. We knew at the beginning that some of us w-wouldn’t live through the war. The best thing we can do now is do what we can to make the rest of the war as short as possible… so the fewest families have to go through this too.”

“Well stated, Ginny,” Hermione replied gently.

Harry licked his lips nervously. “On that note… I don’t want to be, er, insensitive or anything, but like I tried to say before, something big came up while I was at the Dursleys. Really big. I know the timing’s horrible, but I really think we should talk about it right now.”

Hermione looked offended on the behalf of the Weasleys, but Ginny leaned back and peered searchingly at Harry. “How big, exactly?” she asked shrewdly.

“Really. Really. BIG.” Harry answered, emphasizing each word.

Ginny’s eyes widened, and her eyes very carefully didn’t dart to the rectangular lump in Harry’s robes. “You don’t mean—?”

Harry nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean.” He turned to Ron, who didn’t appear to understand but still seemed willing, and Hermione, who simply looked confused. “In fact, I think we should do it now,” Harry said again, “before the headache I have gets worse.”

Ron and Hermione got it at the exact same moment—you could tell from their expressions. “Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed loudly.

“Come on,” Ginny said decisively, standing up and pulling Harry to his feet. “Let’s go.”

“Do the rest of us get a translation?” Angelina asked ironically.

“Not yet,” Harry told her as Ginny, Ron and Hermione hurried to the stairs. “But you’ll understand how serious this is soon, I promise. By tomorrow at the latest.” He turned to look at the Weasley twins. “Fred, George… I’m really sorry to hear about Percy.”

“Oh, don’t fret,” Fred said airily. “We’re not, after all.”

“That’s right,” George agreed. “Why waste the energy?”

Harry exchanged glances with Luna and Angelina, both of whom appeared to understand. No matter what Fred and George were saying, Harry had no doubt that they were actually quite dismayed by Percy’s death and what it would mean to the Weasley family. Both Luna and Angelina seemed to indicate to Harry that they would do what they could for their respective boyfriends in the security of privacy.

Harry ran up the stairs and caught up to Ginny just as she reached the second floor. “You’re serious?” she whispered to him, her eyes still wide with amazement. “You really—”

“Shh,” Harry whispered back. “Wait until we’re inside.” Ginny pursed her lips and nodded, and they hurried down the hall to the conference room, where Hermione and Ron were waiting anxiously in the door for them.

The moment Hermione shut the door Ron blurted “Are you serious, Harry? You found another Horcrux?”

“Not just another Horcrux, Ron,” Harry said, pulling the box from his robes. “The last Horcrux.” He set the box down on the table, and breathed a huge sigh of relief when he removed his hand and the pain in his head faded almost immediately. “This one was worse than all the others,” he said to Ginny. “It was so bad it split my scar open—that’s why there’s a bit of blood on my forehead.”

“It split your scar?” Hermione gasped as she sat down.

Harry nodded. “Go on, have a look…”

Hermione’s curiosity made her reach out and flip the lid off the box. She, Ron and Ginny all leaned over for a look. “A gauntlet,” Hermione said needlessly. “Harry, is there any indication that it was—that it’s what we think it is? Other than your forehead, of course…”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Ron, take it out, will you?” Ron reached in the box and lifted it out reverently. Then he started and bit back a curse as the gauntlet grew suddenly. “Don’t worry, it’s just growing to the right size to fit you,” Harry assured Ron, who relaxed slightly. “It did the same thing to Aunt Petunia—scared her pretty good, too.” Ginny grinned. “Now turn it over—and look, right there at the bottom.”

Three sharp intakes of breath sounded when the others saw the two tiny letters GG. “Godric Gryffindor,” Ron murmured in awe, just as Harry had. “I’m holding the gauntlet of Godric Gryffindor.”

“And the final object that Voldemort turned into a Horcrux,” Harry added. “Probably when he killed my parents.”

Ginny, Ron and Hermione all stared at Harry in shock. “You—you think Voldemort made a Horcrux using your parents’ deaths?” Hermione asked incredulously. “Wh-what makes you think that?”

“Because that’s where Aunt Petunia found the gauntlet,” Harry said darkly. “Under my cradle at Godric’s Hollow.”

Harry retold the story of the gauntlet as Petunia had told him, leaving out nothing. When he was finished, Ginny nodded. “That would explain why this Horcux hurt you more than the others, Harry,” she said. “If it was created with their deaths it makes sense that it’s extra painful. Voldemort may even have—” She cut herself off.

“What?” Harry asked. “What are you thinking, Ginny?”

Ginny looked sadly at Harry. “Voldemort may have intended to add your death to the making of the Horcrux as well.”

“That—that makes a great deal of sense,” Hermione agreed. “It’s not inconceivable that a Horcrux made from the death of one prophecied to destroy him would be exceptionally… potent.”

“But it wasn’t, since I didn’t die,” Harry said flatly. “So why would it hurt me more?”

“Like I said before,” Ginny answered. “Because of your parents’ deaths—especially your mother’s. Maybe for some of the same reasons that Voldemort couldn’t kill you—the protection your mother’s sacrifice gave you?” She shrugged. “We’ll probably never know for sure—I bet this is the only time in history something like this has ever happened.”

Harry looked around at the faces of his three closest friends, all of whom looked nervous or sad. “What are you so unhappy about?” he asked, surprising them. “Don’t be depressed about this on my account—this is great! We have all the Horcruxes!”

“I thought you’d be more upset,” Hermione said bemusedly. “But obviously not.”

“The hell with that,” Harry said firmly. “I can be sad, or I can be satisfied that my parents are going to help me beat Voldemort again—for good this time. We have all the pieces of Voldemort’s soul—everything we need to kill him and make sure he stays dead.” He met the eyes of each of the others in turn. “We talked about today the very first day we met in this house to discuss the war. We’ve reached a new stage, and you all know what that means.”

The others nodded with grim satisfaction. “Escalation,” Ginny stated with fervor. “We’re ready to bring the fight to Voldemort.”

Harry nodded. “Today is Sunday, so everyone should be off work early. Let’s spread the word—tonight at eight, we’re having a meeting with everyone, and I mean everyone. We’re reassigning our focus to two things; figuring out how to destroy the Horcruxes, and preparing ourselves for a confrontation with Voldemort. And we’re going to do it on our terms, on our choice of ground. For the first time in his life, Voldemort’s enemies have the means to destroy him for good.”