30: The Spirit of the Season

You're stalling. Finish up and get in here.

I am not! I'm just enjoying my breakfast.

Piffle! You've been pushing that cinnamon bun around your plate for an hour!

It's Christmas morning, for Merlin's sake!

It's practically Christmas afternoon!

So far Harry's "holiday" had been busier than O.W.L.s week at Hogwarts. Ondossi knocked on his door before dawn every morning and kept him practicing late into the night. He'd even had to wrap his Christmas gifts in mid-lesson.

"I'm twenty-nine years old. True or false?"

He looked up from the ribbon he was tying. "False. You're... twenty-seven." She nodded in approval, but the ribbon fell into a jumbled heap. Harry rolled his eyes, tapping it with his wand to straighten it out and start over.

"You ask me something," she said. "I'm having trouble making stuff up off the top of my head."

The ribbon was hopelessly tangled; he set his wand down to work it the old-fashioned way. "All right," he said, "who's your best friend?"

"Sirius Black."

Harry snorted. "I don't even have to check that one."

"Well then, think up some decent questions!"

Harry sighed. It was hard to come up with something on the spot. "Who's your favorite professor at Hogwarts?"

"Horace Slughorn. True or false?"

He set aside the ribbon and peered deep into her eyes. "I can't tell. It's too vague."

"Bing. You asked for an opinion, not a fact. Maybe I don't like any of them. Or maybe I never picked one I like best. Either way, I can only give a truthful answer if the question HAS one, right? So you have to be more precise."

Harry nodded. "How about this: Are you fond of Professor Slughorn?"

"Absolutely."

He smiled. "False."

She giggled behind her hand. "Better! Horace Slughorn is a bottom feeding opportunist who'd sell his own mother for a bottle of single-malt Scotch."

"True," countered Harry. "But only if it was at least 80 years old."

And so it had gone since their return from Northpole. Occlumency training had been demanding and difficult, but Legilimency was fun. Harry liked exploring his personal magic. It wasn't a matter of N.E.W.T.s or homework, it was his own brand of sorcery, rare and powerful. The long hours spent with Tura never felt boring or tedious--although by Christmas morning he was hoping for a bit of a rest.

He finally gave up resisting her nagging and found her in the attic. Lupin had asked them to clear out of the drawing room for the day so they could entertain.

"Tsk, tsk," mocked Harry. "Such frivolity, spending Christmas with family and friends."

Ondossi made a sour face. "You had all morning for breakfast, and I already said I'd give you dinner, too."

"Lucky me. Meanwhile you're skulking around in the attic like a great old spook, instead of joining the fun. And you call yourself Santa's Little Helper?"

"They're your family and friends, Harry, not mine. And at the moment, I like to think of myself as Harry's Little Torment. Now what shall we learn today?"

Sirius's heavy footsteps echoed up the staircase as he trudged his way to the fifth floor bedroom. He'd been having terrible nightmares since Harry had touched his mind, and had taken to sleeping during the day, preferring to wake up terrified in the sunlight. He'd also done his best to keep this news from Harry, but hadn't been able to get back on a diurnal schedule before the holidays. Harry felt responsible, since he'd aggravated the blocking spell in his memory, and asked hopefully, "How about altered memories?"

Having heard the footsteps as well, Ondossi gave him a grim smile. "Go get him, then," she conceded reluctantly. "Maybe he'll let us work him over together--sort of a Christmas favor."

Like a mastiff being led into the veterinarian's office, Sirius resisted the climb to the attic with his entire body. "Give over! Don't you think you've done enough already?" he complained desperately, hands and feet braced against the doorjamb as Harry leaned against his back.

"Oh, that's nice! Don't even attempt a guilt trip," Harry growled, trying to find better purchase for his feet on the slick wood of the landing. "I know what you went through to get that Horcrux out of my scar." He hunkered down for a good shove. "I'd be a... lousy... godson... if I did... any less!" Sirius suddenly shrank to one side, sending Harry tumbling into the attic stairs.

"Great Merlin's ghost, Harry, I can't believe you fell for that," chastised Sirius, helping Harry to his feet and dusting off the film of dust and dead flies clinging to him from head to toe.

"'Fell for it' is the right phrase, that's for sure," smirked Tura from the attic. "I can't believe you're such a big baby about taking your medicine!"

Oh, no, thought Harry as Sirius glared up the stairs. "Taking my what?" Sirius sputtered. "As if either of you have even half a notion of what's wrong or how to fix it!"

A sensation like a fencing foil passed through Harry's chest. He looked his godfather sternly in the eye. "That didn't stop you when I was cursed," he observed quietly.

Sirius stared back at him agape, then cleared his throat. "Hark who's attempting a guilt trip now," he mumbled, but all three knew the battle was over. Harry gave him another firm glare, and Sirius slouched up the attic stairs. He sat listlessly against the back wall, doing a rather poor job camoflaging his nervousness.

"Tell you what," said Tura after all three traded a moment of concerned glances, "Let me go in by myself first, and just see what's what." Sirius wrinkled his nose, but nodded. "Think about something just before the memories go blank," she instructed, kneeling in front of him and taking his face in her hands.

She's diving in deep! Harry jumped over to park his body behind hers, and not a moment too soon. He could see it, a pale yellow force of magic like a wizened, dead hand, repelling her from Sirius's mind. Tura slammed into him with enough force to knock him over, but if he hadn't caught her, she would have catapulted down the stairs.

Sirius sat up with a horrified start as Ondossi went limp. "Morgan le Fay!" gasped his godfather. "What IS that thing?"

"I don't know," said Harry, "but the sooner we get it out of your head, the better."

Sirius peered uneasily at Tura's unconscious form. "Out cold, then. Just like you were. Well. Now I know how to get rid of her when she annoys me too much."

Harry shot him an optical dagger and wriggled out from under Ondossi's body, laying her on the musty attic floor. "I suppose you're off to bed, then," he said. "Looks like we're done for the day."

Sirius smiled warmly. "Eh, we might as well visit a bit. Besides, it would be unseemly to leave an unconscious witch alone in the attic with a strapping young wizard." At the sight of Harry's blush, Sirius sat up even straighter. "Ah hah! I was right, then! She fancies you, does she?" The humor and warmth had drained abruptly from his voice.

"Not that it's any of your business."

"She's your professor, Harry! If she so much as lays a finger on you, I'll--"

"You'll what?" Harry snapped. "She also happens to be the only other sorcerer like me in the entire world. She's been kind to me since we first met, even if she's a bit moody at times. And she's never done anything improper, though if she did, I'd welcome it!" And I can't believe I said that, he finished internally.

Sirius deflated back into a slump. "Oh," he mumbled. "I see. You fancy her."

Harry folded his arms. "What if I do?"

Sirius took a deep breath and fidgeted a moment, scratching his cheek and brushing a few errant strands of hair behind his ear. He finally looked up with a disarmingly meek expression and said, "I suppose this is just another case of your godfather being behind the times."

Harry sighed; it was impossible to stay angry with Sirius when he was like this. "I know it's... unconventional," he began slowly, "but I really like her. She's not much older than me, either, you know. She lost her family too, you know, but she's so strong, in her own... odd little way. And yet she's frail and delicate as well." He raised his hands, no longer certain what point, exactly, he was trying to make, and saw that Sirius nonetheless seemed to understand him.

"No need to explain," said Sirius, but his tone carried no spite. "Is that why she shies away from the rest of the Order? Because she doesn't want us to know about you two?"

"There isn't any 'us two,' Sirius," Harry said sourly. "I told you, there's been nothing untoward, and maybe there never will be, I don't know. She's shy because she makes people nervous and she knows it. She stays out of everyone's way because it's better to be alone than to be... unwanted." His voice thickened; he had hidden many times under the stairs on Privet Drive for the same reason.

Sirius leaned forward and nudged Harry's shoulder. "I know what that's like. I suppose she and I have some common ground after all," he said with gentle sincerity. "All right, Harry. For your sake, I'll try to... make her feel welcome."

Harry was embarassingly close to shedding some tears, and he pulled his godfather into a tight hug to hide them. "She has a kind heart, Sirius, like yours. You just have to look beyond the surface."

There was a cumbersome moment of silent rebounding from the sudden burst of emotion, in which both men awkwardly sought a new, safer topic of conversation. Glancing around, Sirius spotted the bag of loot recovered from Kreacher's den--the only article in the attic that was not put away neatly on the shelves. "What's this?" he muttered, pulling it close and looking inside.

"Oh, I brought that up," said Harry. "A few things that Kreacher had smuggled to Hogwarts. I believe I saw a picture of your dear cousin Smellatrix."

Sirius pulled out a silver goblet, the stem carved into a snarling dragon guarding the bowl, which was fashioned like a giant egg. "I remember," he said. "Mummy dearest bought this for her niece, Narcissa, when she had her baby, Draco the Dragon." Both of them snickered. "She liked it so much she kept it for herself. Reem told me Mundungus Fletcher nicked it."

"I think Kreacher nicked it back," noted Harry, while Sirius pawed through the sack again.

"Oh, here she is," he sneered, pulling out a stack of picture frames with the photo of Bellatrix Lestrange at the top. He thumbed through the pile, wrinkling his nose at every picture. "Merlin's ghost, I threw out every one of these personally. I'd have spelled the lid onto the bin, if I'd known he'd go diving around for this junk."

He pulled out a baby comb with ribs for teeth. Harry swore. "That's the comb Hagrid used to track you down! Kreacher must've stolen that right from Hagrid's cabin!"

Sirius gave it a cursory glance and pulled out a few more items. "Eh, he loved shiny things with Dark ambience--and obviously had a knack for tracking them down. I suppose it's all to the good. I hate to think of that prat Mundungus profiting from selling them--but honestly, how anyone can value... What's this, then?" Sirius paused, squinting at a large pocket watch. "This I don't recognize." He turned it over and studied the other side intently.

"Hmm. Looks expensive, whatever it is." He pried at the top with a fingernail. "Might try an Alohomora, Harry, I can't get it open."

Curious, Harry dug his wand out of his robe and pointed it at the clasp, but before he could utter the spell, searing pain shot up his arm like a bolt of electricity and set his scar afire.

For a moment he was blind and deaf, the world having collapsed into bright white and pain, but soon he could make out Sirius shouting down the steps for help. Jagged crinkles of darkness pierced the edges of his vision and gradually widened to reveal the candlelit attic. By the time Tonks and Moody pounded up the stairs, Harry found his voice again. "I'm all right. I'm okay. But that thing..."

Moody already had it levitated within a sphere of roiling red smoke. His magical eye was fixed on it; none of them had ever seen the "Mad Eye" sit so still for so long.

"Well, now," Moody finally said. "Someone has a right wicked sense of humor. Only how'd they know all I wanted for Christmas was an Horcrux?"

It sat on a small table in the center of the drawing room, as inconspicuous as an iceberg, with a similar foreboding of unseen danger. The members of the Order studied it from a distance, circling it and peering at it from every angle, yet never stepping close.

Harry left his wand in his bedroom for the first time in months, rather than risk provoking it again. He stared at it from one of the overstuffed armchairs with an untouched mug of mulled wine. "How did Kreacher get his hands on it?" he wondered aloud; it was the question of the hour.

"We know Kreacher went to the Malfoys at least once," noted Tonks.

Harry and Moody shook their heads simultaneously. "Malfoy had the diary," the old Auror muttered. "Only a fool would entrust two of the cursed things to one man. Especially THAT one."

"It must have been here, or at Hogwarts," said Harry. "Where else could he have snooped around long enough to find it? I mean, surely it wasn't sitting out in the open?"

"Reem," said Sirius, fighting to stay awake with a third cup of coffee, "I'm thinking of a spell James had, back when we were working on the Marauder's Map. It was a variation on the Aperio, you remember? So the Map would always be accurate?"

Lupin nodded. "Of course." He turned to Harry. "I told you once that the Marauder's map never lies--that was your father's doing. He spent weeks researching it. Let me see if I can remember." He closed his eyes, flourishing his wand as he silently mouthed the words.

"No, no," said Sirius. "Flick to the left twice, then up. You should practice on something else first."

All present experienced a rare "treat," as Moody promptly popped out his magical eyeball and set it on the arm of Lupin's chair. "Hit it," Moody grunted as Lupin gaped. "I'll know right away if you've got a decent truth spell."

Trying to supress a look of distaste, Lupin wove the wand in a complex motion and said, "Indico Solamen." Blue light enveloped the eye briefly. Moody promptly stuffed it back in the socket, rolling his head to set it in place. He took one look around the room, grimaced, and nodded to Lupin. "Works," he said, but clamped his mouth shut in an obvious refusal to elaborate.

Lupin gave him a final uneasy glance and repeated the spell on the Horcrux. The blue light burned more intensely this time, to the point that everyone in the room was forced to turn away or squint. It finally faded, revealing a smaller object of similar shape but even more ornate.

Harry recognized it in his gut the moment he saw it. "It's a locket," he said, his voice taut. "It formerly belonged to Salazar Slytherin."

Despite the fearsome nature of the Horcrux, the crowd closed around it to admire it. An exquisite bas-relief of two snakes, replete with hundreds of tiny scales, formed the letters "SS" in the center. Mumbles of admiration issued from the crowd; Horcrux or no, it was still a most auspicious artifact.

"So how in seven hells did Kreacher get hold of it?" said Sirius coldly, looking as if he would gladly bring his former house-elf back from the dead in order to throttle him.

Harry barely registered the words. Dumbledore had consumed that horrible potion, suffered until he was too weak to stand, and left himself defenseless against Snape--and all the while the Horcrux he sought was right there in the castle! He was dangerously close to losing that lovely Christmas breakfast.

"That was the one the Headmaster and I were looking for, that night," Harry said feebly, trying to quell the need to vomit. "It had been taken from its hiding place, though, before we got to it. Not by Kreacher, though; the thief left a note and signed it, 'R.A.B.'"

Harry intended to add that R.A.B. intended to destroy it, but was interrupted by Sirius. His godfather leapt to his feet, red-faced and gasping for breath. To Harry's surprise, Lupin and Moody looked equally stunned. "What is it?" he croaked. "Who's R.A.B.?"

Sirius raised a shaky arm and pointed toward the Black family tapestry. "My little brother," he said. "Regulus Arcturus Black."

Harry dug R.A.B.'s note from the depths of his trunk and Sirius recognized the handwriting immediately. "I knew it," Sirius said tearfully. "He tried so hard to please Mum and Dad, but in the end, he came over. He chose to do what was right."

Lupin put an arm about his friend's shoulder. "We owe him our gratitude, Padfoot. He's put us a huge step closer to ending this war."

The group spent the rest of Christmas Day poring over details. The Horcrux had not been destroyed; Moody could see the glimmering soul enmeshed in the metal of the locket. Regulus was murdered late in 1979, meaning that he had discovered the secret of the Horcruxes and stolen this locket before Harry had even been born. His murder was not performed by Voldemort himself, suggesting that this was simply a "routine" consequence of deserting the Death Eaters. There was universal agreement that Voldemort would have seen to the murder personally, if he'd realized there was a Horcrux involved.

"Course he would!" said Moody. "He'd want to find out how the lad found it, an' how he knew about them in the first place. By the time he was done, there wouldn'ta been a scrap left to bury."

"How did he know about it?" mused Harry.

Lupin shook his head. "Unless Kreacher stashed away a secret diary, I think we'll never know," he mused. "Maybe he started down the same path in the Ministry that Percy's attempting now."

That was a sobering thought. "Talking of which," said Tonks, "the Weasleys are expecting us for dinner in half an hour. Should we Floo and say we can't make it?"

"Certainly not!" snapped Sirius. "Their greatest victories are when they scare us out of living our normal lives. You lot go on and bring back a plate of supper for me, and give Percy my best regards. Anonymously, of course."

Harry knocked on Tura's door before he left for the Burrow. She'd woken up during the afternoon with a headache and taken to her room just after she learned what all the fuss was about in the drawing room. She answered with a groggy, "Come in," and covered her eyes with a painful wince at the sight of the hallway light.

"We're leaving for the Weasley's now," Harry said quietly. "Are you sure you won't come too?"

"Oh, no," she said, swinging her feet off the bed and sitting up. "My head's getting better, but it's still killing me. But if there's sweet potatoes, will you bring me some?"

"Of course," he said. "But I have something for you now." He'd given Fred and George strict instructions on what he wanted them to buy, and as usual, they'd done an outstanding job, even had it wrapped in dark blue paper covered with moving snowflakes.

She sat up straighter. "Well, this is a surprise!" she exclaimed. "And it's pretty hard to surprise me!" She took it somewhat hesitatingly. "But I didn't get anything for you."

"Besides the coat and boots and--"

"Oh, be still! Those were necessities, not presents."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course. So is this, it's just disguised to look like a present. You might as well open it, now that the ruse is up." He grinned slyly, enjoying her understated delight.

She pulled off the paper carefully, smiling at the whirling blizzard, and opened the little box. A tiny key sparkled on the velvet lining, and she cooed admiringly before raising it by its fine silver chain. "What is it?" she said.

"A key," said Harry with an utterly straight face.

"You ding-dong," she countered. "Does unlock something?"

Harry smiled broadly. "Yes, it does. It's the key to my heart, Tura." He took her chin in his hand. "Yours to use if you see fit." He leaned forward and once again kissed the corner of her mouth. "Merry Christmas."