Bonds of Servitude Ch 12 (Patreon)

"Hmmph, a rundown shack. Goes to show where being ancient and noble gets you."

Arcturus ignored Bellatrix's derisive comment as he stared down the decrepit looking structure, though he had to agree with her sentiments.

In his youth, the Gaunts had already fallen from grace, with views and practices too extreme even for the most staunch purebloods of the day. They had become a cautionary tale, a warning to all the great families that while you could become entrenched, you could never allow yourself to become stagnant. More than anything, the Gaunts had become irrelevant, fading to the point where Arcturus remembered incorrectly assuming that their line had ended centuries prior.

Even with all of this, to gaze upon the hovel that they had called their home… it was shocking.

“Let's go, old man, no time for reminiscing.” Bella urged as she began to slowly step forward. “We’ve got a soul shard to destroy.”

Arcturus brandished his wand, silently blasting open the door to the shack. A bolt of malevolent purple energy rushed forward from the entryway, and before Bellatrix could move to push her grandfather out of the way, Arcturus swung his cane with his left hand. The bottom of his cane struck the curse, which dissipated on impact.

“I may be an old dog, Bellatrix, but I have more than a few tricks.”

Bella grinned as she twirled her wand. “Good, I was worried you’d slow me down. Now I know you can keep up.”

Tom had given them the locations of his horcruxes. The diadem was at Hogwarts, in a hidden room. There was no way they would involve the children in this, so it would have to wait until they could figure out a way to remove it, preferably without Dumbledore finding out. The cup had been handed off to Rodolphus LeStrange, who had hidden it in his ancestral vault. Slytherin’s locket was in a cave, and after Tom had finished explaining the plethora of safeguards he had installed, it was clear that one would take some planning to safely remove.

That left the Gaunt ring. It was the most accessible and had the lightest defenses. And so, the day after Harry and the girls had returned to Hogwarts, Bella and Arcturus had gone to work.

They cast bubblehead charms to protect against both the stench that permeated the rotting wooden house and the mist of madness Voldemort had filled the shack with.

They had extracted every single detail from Tom, but they were still cautious.

Arcturus stepped on a loose floorboard, and the mummified hand that leapt out to grasp his leg was instantly pulverized by Bellatrix.

They pried open the loose floorboard, dispelling the concentrated dust that would try and pierce their bubblehead charm with a quick gust of wind.

There it was. A small, golden ring with an obsidian stone at its center. Arcturus and Bellatrix instantly raised their occlumency shields as they were bombarded with mental suggestions. Even with their shields raised, they could still feel the subtle suggestions, encouraging them to step forward, to get a closer look, to try the ring on just once…

Bella’s foot moved forward half-an-inch before she stiffened. Her eyes narrowed as she pulled out one of the Black Implements, the bone-white dart that could pierce through any and all protections.

“Nice try, you fucker." Bellatrix blew on the dart, which shot off like a bullet, striking the black stone inset dead center.

The dart bounced off the stone, falling limply to the floor.

"What the fuck?"

"That shouldn't be possible." Arcturus breathed out. There was no protection that Voldemort could have uncovered that would have overcome a tool as ancient and as powerful as a Black Implement. It just didn't make sense.

Bellatrix stomped forward.

"Bellatrix!" Arcturus warned.

"I'm fine, old man." Bella reached out, her hand getting dangerously close to the ring as she grabbed onto the dart, stabbing it quickly into the golden band of the ring.

The ring instantly shrieked in agony as the same black gunk began to spray from it. Bella jumped back, barely managing to dodge being covered in the horcrux’s death secretions.

Unearthly screeching continued to echo throughout the shack, but Arcturus couldn’t care less.

“What the hell was that, Bellatrix?”

“I had a hunch, and I knew if I told you about it you’d hem and haw until the cows came home.” Bella said dismissively, “I was right, anyways.”

And she was. The horcrux let out its final death throes as the golden band shattered to pieces, rusting into warped, blackened metal before their very eyes.

Once they were sure the horcrux had been destroyed, the two of them stepped up, with Arcturus slipping on his dragonhide gloves. He let Bella get ahead of him, just far enough so she wouldn’t see him rear his arm back and slap her across the back of the head.

“Hey!” Bellatrix yelped, “What’s the deal, you old fuck!?”

“Recklessness is almost never rewarded as it was just now, Bellatrix.” He said sternly. “You know that better than anyone.”

Bellatrix groaned as she rubbed the back of her head, though she had no retort. Her grandfather was correct, there was no denying that.

Arcturus knelt down, picking up the black stone with the utmost care.

“What could possibly be stronger than the Black Implements?” Bella asked.

Arcturus held the stone between his thumb and forefinger, turning it every which way as he inspected it with a critical eye.

The stone bore a symbol. A circle within a triangle, bisected by a vertical line.

Arcturus had seen it before.

“Let’s return, Bellatrix. I believe we’ve uncovered yet another mystery.”

…

"I leave them in your capable hands, Ms. Fawley." Professor Sprout beamed at the four young Slytherins in front of her. "It does my heart well to see ones so young gain an interest in Herbology. It's so often shunted off to the side."

"Many don't appreciate its subtle intricacies, Professor." Gemma Fawley, fifth year Slytherin prefect, was well versed in appeasing her elders with empty platitudes.

"I expect to see your grades improving, Miss Parkinson, Miss Davis." Sprout sent the two girls a stern look before smiling at Susan, who had excellent grades in Herbology, before finally making her exit from the greenhouses.

"Alright, what is it you brats want?" Gemma said when she was certain Sprout had left.

The three girls blanched. "Like I said, we want some tutoring in Herbology." Pansy insisted.

Gemma snorted. "Please, don't insult the colours on your robe. Do you have the gobblers?"

The trio shared a look before Pansy sighed, opening up her satchel to reveal ten small little white orbs.

The prefect's eyes lit up, "And these are from the new batch?"

Pansy nodded.

Ever since they’d returned from Christmas break, all the girls had been raving about how this ‘new batch’ of Go-Gobblers was even more potent than before. Of course, the first year Slytherin girls could attest to this as well, since they took full doses of Harry’s load, and it had become apparent that something had happened over the holiday to make his magical cum even more potent.

Not just that, but Harry himself had become even more irresistible. Random girls would now stare dreamily at him, or blatantly undress him with their eyes. The girls had even noticed that the professors were affected. While Professor McGonagall managed to hide it very well, Professor Sinistra had spent the last few astronomy classes very clearly hot and bothered.

The Blacks had made Darcia and the others swear not to reveal the truth about Harry’s Horcrux. While they trusted Darcia’s friends, they were still children with completely unshielded minds. It was far too risky to spread the knowledge of horcruxes to that many people. It was clear to the Blacks that the removal of the horcrux had changed Harry. The horcrux had been a parasite, leeching off his magic, and with it gone, his magic was completely unshackled.

Which was a scary thought. Harry had not only been sexually potent, but he’d been very magically powerful too. Now, without the horcrux, who knew just how strong he’d truly become.

Back in the present, Gemma grinned greedily, “Alright, shoot away, what is it you want from me?”

Pansy and Tracey looked at Susan. “I just want to ask some questions about the greenhouses.” The redhead said.

Gemma raised an elegant eyebrow, “Sure, ask away.” She shrugged, deciding to play along.

What followed was essentially a tour of the greenhouses, with Susan asking pointed questions about every single detail she could find.

Gemma was a quintessential Slytherin, cunning, subtle and discreet. She was also a prodigy at Herbology, having entered an apprenticeship under Professor Sprout this year, which meant she had privileged access to the greenhouses and knew their layout almost as well as the Professor.

“That’s the keratin powder, it's for the hydroponics. You should know this, Bones, I know your class covered the basics of aquatic plants right before term ended.” Gemma was starting to sound irritated, as Susan’s questions ranged from obvious to obtuse.

“And is there always that much of it?” Susan asked.

“Two sacks isn’t really much.” Was Gemma’s response.

“Hey Fawley, catch.” Tracey had dug into Pansy’s bag and pulled out a Go-Gobbler, which she tossed at the girl. Gemma caught it and tossed it back all in one go. Her pupils dilated and her sour mood instantly brightened as she took on a renewed fervor.

“What else do you want to know?” She asked Susan.

Susan searched the greenhouse desperately, trying to find anything that could be a clue.

Finally, her eyes settled on the bench with all the different bags of fertilizer. They were all meticulously organized and set out in pairs. That was until you hit the edge of the bench, where there were six heavy sacks pile up on top of each other.

"What are those?"

"Those are for Devil's Snare."

"There's a special fertilizer for just one plant?" Tracey asked in bewilderment.

Gemma rolled her eyes. "If you had paid attention to your lessons on Devil's Snare, you would know that in nature, the plant feeds by slowly draining the nutrients of the prey it ensnares. Most artificial fertilizers are too fast acting, they overwhelm the plant and cause it to shrivel up and die."

"So that fertilizer is like, slow release?" Pansy asked.

Gemma nodded. "Not as dumb as you look, Parkinson."

Pansy was about to make a snappy retort when Susan spoke up. "Why are there that many? I haven't seen any Devil's Snare around here since we finished up with it last October."

Gemma opened her mouth before she considered Susan's question. She stared hard at the bags and found she was stumped.

"Perhaps Professor Sprout is stockpiling?" Gemma offered, sounding completely unconvinced of her own theory.

"Has she ever stockpiled before?" Susan asked.

Gemma thought for a moment before shaking her head.

Susan grinned, giving the other two a thumbs up.

"Well, thank you for everything, Fawley. Here you go." Gemma cupped her hands as Pansy dumped the rest of the Gobblers out onto them.

"Yeah sure." Gemma said. She had no clue what this had been all about. The Slytherin in her burned with the need to figure out just what the hell these first years were trying to do.

The glutton in her saw nine Go-Gobblers (which she'd gotten for free!) and decided there were better ways to spend her time.

…

"Tell me, Missy, has there been anything out of the ordinary this year?"

The girls were now sitting in the kitchens. Pansy and Tracey were snacking on crackers while Susan was sipping on a cup hot chocolate. Her auntie would sip on coffee sometimes when interrogating people. Susan wanted to emulate her, but coffee tasted gross.

Missy the house elf sat opposite Susan, a kindly smile on her face. "Nothing is out of the ordinary for Hogwarts elves, miss! We is always dealing with unusual things, but we always make it work!"

Susan grumbled slightly, swirling her hot cocoa before taking another sip. Next time, she would ask for some marshmallows on top.

"Are you sure, Missy? It must be hard with the shortage."

"Shortage?" Missy choked out. This drew Pansy and Tracey's attention as Susan smirked.

"Of course, you guys are missing a quarter of the usual staff, aren't you?" That information had been easy to extract. The Weasley twins visited the kitchens all the time. And the third years had confirmed the slight drop in the number of kitchen elves compared to previous years.

Missy fiddled nervously. "Well, great Headmaster Dumbledore asked some of us to help."

"Help with what?" Pansy asked. Susan's hand twitched, Pansy needed to learn to be a bit more controlled when questioning a suspect.

Thankfully, Missy didn't close up. "The cleaning. We must clean up the waste, especially the droppings."

All three girl's faces scrunched up in disgust.

"Droppings, you mean plural? From different creatures?" Missy could have easily just meant the droppings of the cerberus, but Susan wanted to lead her on, see what she could pry.

Missy nodded, "it takes a lot of effort to keep clean! Missy's friend Patsy says the big green monster's droppings are the worst! And the monster always swings its club at Patsy when he shows up."

Susan put down her cup and stood up. She sent Pansy and Tracey a triumphant smirk as she passed by them.

"Bones with a strut to her step. Who would have thought." Pansy said as the couple stood up to follow her.

…

"Wow. You really are good." Tonks said as Susan finished revealing everything she'd found.

Susan had deduced that Sprout's contribution to the defenses was Devil's Snare, which was why she was heavily stocked up on fertilizer to keep them fed throughout the year. There was also a troll down there, which must be Quirrell's part in it, along with something to do with flying.

Susan had asked around, inquiring about anything that any of the older years found that was different from the usual. Finally, one fourth year girl came around and mentioned the fact that some of the school brooms were missing. The school brooms were in terrible condition, but they were all many people had if they wanted to fly recreationally. This particular fourth year frequented the broom shed enough to have noticed the empty slots, too plentiful to be explained away by a broom breaking or being lost.

"Whatever the broom thing is, I think it has to be Professor Flitwick's. Unfortunately, I can't find a way to figure out what Professor McGonagall came up with, and Snape took his to the grave." Susan said with a hint of disappointment.

"You did amazing, Susan." Harry wrapped an arm around her and Susan beamed, cuddling onto his side on the couch.

“Believe me, Susan, this is more than I expected. And When it comes to Minnie, don’t worry, I got it covered.” Nymphadora winked, before immediately having to swivel her chair to the side as she began throwing up onto a garbage can.

“Mistress!” Penny leaned over, putting her hands around Nym’s shoulders as the metamorph finished hurling into the trash. Harry had stood up from his spot between Susan and Daphne, and between him and Penny, they both rubbed Tonks’ back as she charmed her mouth clean before tossing back a glass of water.

Darcia looked over at Daphne, “You’re going to be doing the birthing.”

Daphne smiled proudly, “That’s more than fine by me.”

Nymphadora for her part did not let her bout of sickness ruin her own mood, “Our little tykes’ going to be a fighter, Harry. She’s already busting my ass five ways to Sunday.”

“Nymphadora, maybe it's better if you rest.” Harry said, the worry in his voice echoed by Penny’s expression.

“Bah, I’m already going to miss out on stealing the damn thing. Besides, Minnie is easy work for me.”

…

Minerva McGonagall was having a perfectly fine evening. She didn’t have any essays to grade, for one, one of those rare occurrences during the academic year that definitely called for a spot of whiskey in her tea. She was ready to settle in, listen to the Pride of Portree match narration on the wireless and maybe catch up on a few chapters of that novel she was supposed to be reading with Pomona and Poppy.

Just as she was heading over to tune the wireless to the station, her peace and tranquility were shattered by a knock at the door. Not just any knock, but a knock in a very peculiar pattern.

“No.” Minerva glared at the door as her blood ran cold. “Not tonight, please.”

The person knocked again in that same sing-song pattern that made Minerva’s heart fill with dread.

There was nothing to it, she didn’t want to hear the knock a third time. She went for the door, opening it up with her best stern glare plastered on her face.

“Miss Tonks.” Minerva grumbled as the pink-haired seventh year stood by her door. She was wearing a baggy robe, different from the usual muggle wear she would use for these visits.

“It’s actually Black now.” Nymphadora said with a cheerful grin, “How’s it going, Minnie Mac? Lions haven’t been faring any better this year, I’m afraid.”

Minerva clenched her fist.

Outside of Penny, the only person to know of the Boss Lady’s real identity before this year was Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

Well, Nymphadora suspected that Dumbledore knew, because of course he probably did. But he had never so much as winked at her conspiratorially, so there was still a prideful side of her that thought she had managed to pull the wool over the old Headmaster’s eye.

The reason McGonagall knew wasn’t due to some mistake or oversight on Nymphadora’s part. No, Tonks had revealed herself to McGonagall on purpose.

Minerva was a stern, strict but fair, by the book type of woman. Most of the time.

She was also a woman of fierce passion and loyalty. Loyalty to her Scottish heritage, loyalty to her quidditch team, loyalty to her house.

Her passion had led her to placing a sizable wager on the Gryffindor Quidditch team three years ago, when they’d faced off against Slytherin in the final match with their last great seeker Charlie Weasley at the height of his powers.

Charlie Weasley had caught the snitch, but Gryffindor had lost the match and the cup.

Minerva paid that one back immediately. But the next year, after a summer of swearing off gambling, she’d wagered on Gryffindor in the first match against Hufflepuff, which they lost after a strange incident where Charlie Weasley’s broom seemed to have been jinxed.

Minerva was now certain that Nymphadora had fixed the match, but she had no proof, and she began to spiral into a shameful gambling addiction that only got worse when ‘The Boss Lady’ started offering her odds on the Pride of Portree and Scottish National Team.

Now, Minerva was deep in the hole with Nym. She owed her far too much money, and Tonks had taken advantage. A few years prior, she had begun this arrangement.

Minerva would look the other way, she would let Tonks run her business, as long as no one was grievously injured.

“What do you want, Nymphadora?”

The girl didn’t seem as bothered as she usually was by the use of her full name, she simply shrugged as she stepped into the room. “Just wanna have a look around, you know, the usual.”

The usual meant that Nymphadora would look through her things, copy a few answer keys for tests and then sell them to a few students. She did it irregularly enough for Minerva to be able to tolerate it, and she could usually pinpoint afterwards which students had cheated, so she made sure to grill them extra hard during classes to compensate.

“Make it quick.”

“Don’t worry, I know the Pride are playing the Tornadoes. You know, mum is a big Tutshill supporter, you guys should listen to the match together, have a bit of banter.”

Minerva didn’t respond. She just pressed back against the wall, “Gon on with it, then.”

Nymphadora shrugged as she made a beeline for Minerva’s desk. She opened her drawers, rifling quickly through her papers.

She found the answer key for next week’s exam for the fourth years, she put it off to the side, this would be her justification for having come here. What she was really looking for was any sort of clue, anything that could tell her what McGonagall had contributed to the defenses.

She had Minerva by the balls, but McGonagall would never stoop to the level of betraying such sensitive information.

Her eyes scanned boring administrative documents, essays filled with red ink (That Goyle boy was seriously deficient academically) and course outlines. She scanned through Gringotts letters and correspondence with Transfigurations Masters on the continent as well as letters of recommendation Minerva had drafted.

She was reaching the end of the drawer, and the end of McGonagall’s patience for this, and she hadn’t found anything. She let out a small huff in frustration, until she found something at the bottom.

A chess board, with the small plastic pieces scattered about.

Tonks blinked.

She'd never once seen Professor McGonagall play chess. And she'd definitely never found a chess board when looking through her things before.

“You should be quite done by now,”

“Yeap, got what I wanted.” Tonks said as she snatched the answer key,

“I’ll be needing that back by tomorrow.” Minerva said.

Tonks nodded eagerly, holding back the lump in her throat as the contents of her stomach suddenly wanted to surge upward.

“See ya, Minnie!” She quickly left the room, leaving a disgruntled McGonagall to finally turn on the Quidditch match, only to find that the Tutshill seeker had caught the snitch within the first five minutes.

…

“I think this is the most prepared we’ll be.”

“We still don’t know what Snape did, or exactly what Flitwick’s challenge is besides it involving brooms.” Darcia said as she looked at the outline Nymphadora had drawn.

“Plus, whatever defense Dumbledore put up.” Daphne added.

That pulled them short. They hadn’t even considered the fact that the most powerful wizard in the world was probably contributing some type of defense for the Stone.

“We’ll never be able to figure out what the Headmaster did. I think our best bet is to just go with the information we have. If at any point we reach something that’s far too dangerous, then we’ll just have to abort the mission.” Penny said, looking to Nymphadora who nodded in assent.

Honestly, with the way Go-Gobblers had been taking off, and with all the opportunities Nym was already developing outside of Hogwarts, they didn’t need to steal the stone. Of course this was still the Philosopher’s Stone, an item of limitless value, but Tonks wasn’t stealing it from a place of need, not anymore. They were stealing the stone more for the thrill of it, for one final hurrah.

“Where exactly are we going to stash it? If and when we do end up snatching it?” Harry asked thoughtfully.

Darcia was taken aback by Harry’s question. Harry was many things, but independently inquisitive was not one of them, a result of his upbringing followed by his enslavement.

Yet another thing to chalk up to the Horcrux being gone.

“Malfoy Manor.” Hermione snapped her fingers, “It's completely locked down, so no one will be able to access it while we wait for things to cool down.”

“If it's completely locked down, how are we supposed to get there? Mrs. Malfoy controls the wards, not Darcia.” Penny pointed out.

“Mum needs to go there regularly, turn the lights on and things like that to make sure the house doesn’t become haunted. She accesses it from the floo in great-grandfather’s attic. It’s connected, just protected with a password.” Darcia explained.

“And you know the password, don’t you?” Tonks grinned broadly as she rubbed her hands together, “We’re in business,”

…

“All those in favour of the Werewolf Equal Employment act?” Cornelius asked in a bored voice.

It was yet another routine session of the Wizengamot. Even with Dolores and Lucius gone, life moved on, politics remained politics, and new people stepped in to fill the vacuums left behind.

If Cornelius thought about it too hard, he would be filled with dread at what that said about his own future, his own standing in all of this. But thankfully, he never thought too hard about anything.

After the same procedural rituals, followed by some votes on some minor appropriations that all went as expected, it was time for the almost weekly vote on some pie-in-the-sky legislation.

This week, it was old Robert Ogden, the grandson of the great man who invented Ogden’s finest, and his constant crusade to improve the lives of werewolves. Ogden would propose his spurious bit of legislation, slightly reworded and renamed from the time prior, it would get slapped down immediately and they would move on. Ogden could then show the bleeding hearts that he was trying, donate some money to some werewolf sanctuary in Poland, and he’d get a two percent boost in his sales. Ogden knew the purebloods understood the game enough to not take it personally, so he wouldn’t lose sales from their end.

But as the wands raised up in the chamber, Cornelius did a double take. The usual quacks raised theirs, of course. Chief among them was Xenophilius Lovegood, a man who made a mockery of this austere chamber every time he remembered he’d inherited a seat.

He wasn’t even taken aback when Director Bones and her small coalition raised their wands up in the air. The director liked to make these little displays of rebellion whenever she was angry over Cornelius cutting her budget.

No, what truly shocked him was when Narcissa Malfoy raised her wand, commanding not just the hefty Malfoy and Black votes, but also the Potter votes through her daughter’s enslavement of the Boy-Who-Lived. Lucius had made hay for a decade with the power the Potter seat granted him via proxy. Now, Narcissa was doing the same.

And along with her were two-thirds of the traditionalist faction. Greengrass, Parkinson, Nott… Avery, for goodness sake! Avery was voting in favor of werewolves!

Only a few like McNair and Flint, voted against. It was an absolute landslide.

“T-The measure passes via an overwhelming majority.” Cornelius heard himself stuttering out, his mind feeling detached from his body as he experienced all of this as if looking down from above.

There was no great uproar, no murmur of shock or surprise. They moved on to some unimportant piece of minutiae, Rita Skeeter scribbled away on her notepad from the stands, and everyone acted as if they hadn’t created a monumental shift in the politics of magical Britain.

….

“I heard you had quite a victory in there,” Anastasia said as Narcissa and Amelia walked out of the chamber.

Primrose Parkinson smiled, “My husband did his part, I hope.”

Narcissa returned her smile, “It all went quite swimmingly. Better than I expected, honestly.”

“I must say, that was quite a turn of events, Lady Malfoy.” Rita’s voice wafted in from the side. She ignored the annoyed glares sent her way by Amelia and the pureblood wives; she had built quite a reputation for herself, after all, she couldn’t really blame them.

“Ah, Ms. Skeeter. I hope we gave you enough material for the front page.” Narcissa said, keeping up appearances, acting as if she and Rita hadn’t had breakfast together this morning.

“Oh, believe me, my only regret is not bringing in my photographer. The Minister’s face after that bill passed would have sold more papers than England winning the World Cup.”

“Narcissa, I must take my leave. I hope we are still on for tea tomorrow evening?” Amelia asked.

Narcissa nodded, “Of course. Primrose very graciously offered up her home.”

Amelia chuckled. “Parkinson Manor, I never thought I’d set foot in there as a guest.”

Primrose laughed along. “Believe me, Amelia, we are a lot more hospitable when you’re not walking in with a search warrant in your hands.”

As more people exited the chamber, the mass of pureblood husbands approached the group of women.

Narcissa took them in. They had only taken one dose, diluted by copious amounts of alcohol, yet they had never recovered. From what she’d heard from the other wives, these men, once boisterous, testosterone filled sacks of male bravado, had turned into meek and malleable puppets. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t been dosed again, it seemed that the change was permanent. Already, she could see these men, who hadn’t exactly been in the best shape beforehand, looking flabbier. Andronicus was balding, Patroclus Parkinson had developed a double chin.

She hadn’t given it much thought, but Harry’s seed was a very dangerous weapon. She really needed to pin down just what was up with her young lover, but that was something to figure out down the line, when the Dark Lord was well and truly dead and buried.

…

‘Wake up, you blithering fool!’

Quirinius’ head popped up from where it had been lolling off to his side.

Thankfully, none of his fifth year students noticed. They were far too busy with the reading assignment he’d given them. Or, far more likely, passing notes and talking amongst themselves.

‘You are failing me, Quirinius. Do you wish for me to employ other means to keep you alert?’

Quirrell shuddered at the thought. The Dark Lord could cause him great pain with just a simple thought, a by-product of his submission and their shared body.

‘No, master, there will be no need for that!’

He needed to stay awake and alert. He needed to be ready for when they finally made their play for the Stone.

The problem was, he’d been feeling more and more tired as time went on. He would never admit it to his master, but he was sure it was a byproduct of the possession. The more he shared a body with his lord, the more his life force and energy were being leeched off by him, the harder it became for him to remain awake for extended periods of time.

Sometimes, he’d wake up in the morning and his body would feel tired, as if he’d been moving around all night.

He needed to get the stone. And soon.

His tired eyes swept over his classroom, until he caught a glint of something white.

It was peeking out of one of the girl’s bags. A small little pearl of pure snow.

He looked up at the girl, Ms. Gemma Fawley. A proper pureblood Slytherin.

She was pretending to read her assignment, but in reality, she was passing notes with another classmate.

Quirinius didn’t care. What mattered to him was the small little orb that he’d been seeing pop up among the female population. He hadn’t given it much thought before, thinking it another frivolous trend among teenagers.

But it seemed to have caught on very fast, and as he looked back at the multiple memories of seeing students pop them into their mouths during his class alone, he remembered noting how their pupils would dilate, how they’d be filled with a sudden rush of energy.

Energy.

It was very easy work for Quirinius. He flicked his wand and summoned the little glob over to himself. Miss Fawley was none the wiser. He stashed the little orb away under his desk.

He waited for the students to leave the classroom before he inspected it. It was very small, and felt as if even the barest amount of pressure would break the film which contained the liquid inside.

He held it up to eye level. He couldn’t sense magic, so he really couldn’t tell if there was anything special about the little globule he held between his thumb and forefinger.

‘It is likely some concentrate of pepper-up potion. Take it if you must, you weak fool.’

Quirinius gulped. He opened his mouth and tossed it back. He swallowed it whole down his throat, and he could feel it as it traversed its way down his esophagus on its way to his stomach.

At some point during that journey, the bubble popped.

And almost immediately, Quirinius’ head went with it.

The room was showered in gore as Professor Quirrell’s head exploded violently. Blood, little chunks of brain matter, bits and pieces of cranium, they all sprayed outward, covering his desk and the first few rows of seats in a fine crimson mist.

His corpse sat there, at his desk, upright, blood leaking out of the jagged stump left by his open neckhole, his hands flat on the table, facing downward.

A black mist screeched as it shot off towards the wall, phasing through it and disappearing off into the early noon sky.

…

The atmosphere in the Great Hall that night was… strange, to say the least.

Thankfully, a House Elf had been the one to discover Quirrell’s body, and not a student. Classes had suddenly been canceled for the rest of the day, and outrageous rumors spread through the castle like wildfire as people speculated on what possibly could have happened.

When the Headmaster announced to the school that Professor Quirrell had passed away suddenly, people were stunned. Not because anyone liked or would miss Quirrell, but because that made two professors that had died in only one academic year. And there was still time to spare.

The Headmaster being so vague about the whole thing led to wild speculation, with the leading theory being that Quirrell had contracted a severe case of botulism from all the garlic he kept around.

Almost immediately after the students were dismissed, Harry and the girls congregated in Tonks’ office, where the metamorph was instantly bombarded with questions.

“Merlin, no! I didn’t kill Quirrell! What makes you think I’d do something like that?”

“How about the fact that you already did do something like that, just a few months ago?” Darcia asked.

“That was to save your spoiled ass, you idiot!” Tonks yelled.

“Girls, calm down.” Harry warned. Tonks and Darcia instantly backed off from what was about to be an argument. Harry looked Darcia dead in the eyes. “Nymphadora didn’t do it. She wouldn’t kill someone unless she had a very good reason to.”

“You know what this means, right?” Daphne asked the group. “Tomorrow. We need to take the stone tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Darcia asked.

“You didn’t see it because you were gone. But Dumbledore had to go into the Ministry all day the day after Snape died. I’m sure the same will happen tomorrow, especially since that makes two deaths in one year.”

Daphne’s words sunk into everyone. They all looked at each other, suddenly becoming very nervous. Even Nymphadora and Penny looked a bit paler, as the enormity of what they were about to attempt suddenly hit them.

“We need to rest, then.” Harry said. His voice was firm and commanding. Just hearing it made the girl’s worries fade away. “We’ve planned this out as best as we can, we are well prepared, and we’re going to succeed.”

Penny bit her lip. “I know one thing that would really help me get a good night’s sleep.” Her eyes trailed down to Harry’s crotch.

Harry smiled, pulling down his zipper and whipping out his cock, earning appreciative gasps from the girls.

…

"You got everything ready, Andi?" Bellatrix asked.

Andromeda checked her bag for the fifth time. She had all the potions she needed. "We're all set."

Andromeda had taken two days off from Hogwarts, so she was unaware of Quirrell's untimely demise.

The reason for her little break was simple. She'd needed time to prepare a spate of very delicate, very hard to brew potions. Potions that would help her, Bellatrix and grandfather as they went after Slytherin's locket.

"Tom, you're coming with us." Bellatrix said.

"Yes mistress Bella, of course." The gnome responded eagerly.

"We're going to kill you, leave you in the water for the inferi."

"That sounds wonderful, mistress Bella."

The Blacks were all eager to be rid of Tom. Despite all of the clauses they had extracted from him, it was still far too risky to keep a piece of Voldemort's soul around. They had taken all the information they'd needed from him, so once he helped them in the cave, they would destroy him.

"How long do you expect to be out?" Narcissa asked, leaning against the door as she watched the trio prepare.

"It'll probably be a few hours. Breaking down those enchantments wont be easy."

Arcturus said.

Narcissa nodded. "Well, good luck to you three."

"Thanks, but we're not going to need it." Bellatrix said before kicking Tom in the back, knocking the gnome onto his face. "Only one of us is dying today, and we already decided its him."

"Merlin, Bella. Could you not talk about dying? It's a bad omen." Andromeda chided her sister.

"What do I have to do to make it better? Toss salt over my shoulder?"

"Just shut up and lets go." Arcturus grumbled.

Armed to the teeth with magical artifacts and potions, the trio made their way out into the early morning sun, where they disappeared with a pop.

Narcissa made a silent prayer for them.

…

He was aimless.

He needed to find shelter. And soon.

The sun burned. It wouldn't kill him, but it would hurt. And Voldemort had experienced enough pain to last him a lifetime. His entire existence over the past decade had been pain.

He couldn't believe Quirrell had been such an incompetent fool. He hadn't even gotten close to the damn stone!

It was a testament to how far he'd fallen.

If only he had his old followers. If only the cowards hadn't abandoned him.

Almost immediately after that thought, he felt it. A tug, a pull towards somewhere in the wilderness.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been drifting for, how far he'd gotten. He wasn't even sure what direction he'd been heading in.

All he knew was that he needed to find shelter before day broke.

And now, he felt a tug, a very familiar tug.

His followers had never understood what it meant to take his mark. They knew it was a symbolic gesture, and they knew that he could use it to summon them. But they thought that that was the end of it. The mark burned when he called for them or when he was displeased, and that was it.

If only they knew.

The Dark Mark bound his followers to him, mind, body, and especially soul. It marked them as his property in a bond so complete, not even death could break it.

Case in point.

He came up on some wards. They were very powerful, and he was very weak, but the Dark Mark circumvented all of that. It made the strength of wards meaningless.

If Severus had lived on, Voldemort would have been able to apparate through even Hogwarts' wards, all because Snape bore his mark.

And so, his spectral form phased through the wards like they weren't even there.

Once inside the boundaries, he instantly recognized the sprawling manor, even if there were no peacocks roaming its grounds.

The grounds looked to be in a state of disrepair, but Voldemort did not dwell on that, he was fully focused on following the beacon that led him directly to his follower.

He phased through a wall, sped down a dark corridor and finally ended up in a room he was very familiar with.

The dining room. He had been here hundreds of times. First, as a guest, during his rise to power, and then as master of his domain, when he'd used this manor as one of his bases of operation.

The ghostly form of Lucius Malfoy was staring up at a portrait of his father, Abraxas, a man who had been much greater than Lucius.

The portrait was looking away, clearly disgusted by his son's failures.

"Lucius."

Lucius proved that a ghost could grow pale as he turned around stiffly, "M-My lord?"

The black mass that was Lord Voldemort hovered in front of him, shapeless and faceless. Yet somehow, Lucius knew.

"My lord, this is what you've been reduced to?"

"Watch your tongue, Lucius. You are still my servant, and servants should not speak ill of their master."

The ghost of Lucius Malfoy chuckled darkly. "I don't know if you realize this, oh lord of mine." His voice was now tinged with sarcasm. "But I am already dead. My service to you has ended, you and I are nothing but a pair of phantoms in the night."

The mass of darkness paused for a moment. "That is where you're wrong, Lucius."

Voldemort surged forward, and much to Lucius' terror, when the dark lord's soul touched his ghostly form, he felt pain.

The ghost screamed in agony as he was enveloped by dark tendrils. He felt his very existence rip apart as the darkness consumed him.

The two specters merged, and inside the pitch blackness of Malfoy Manor, the dark mass that had been Voldemort began to take shape.

.