Something Better Than This

Chapter 11: Bankrupt

"Horcruxes," Slytherin spat venomously. "And I let you into my house." Ron and Hermione could be heard jumping to their feet, but Harry was between them and Slytherin. Jakinda, showing admirable nerve, held a rather large knife poised, with the firelight gleaming off it.

"I don't want to make them!" Harry protested. "I want to destroy them!"

Some of the raw fury and disgust went from Salazar's face, but his wand didn't move.

"Harry!" Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Jakinda half-turn toward Ron's voice.

"It's all right," Harry said, an eerie calm falling over him, "he thinks I'm a Dark wizard."

"That doesn't sound 'all right' to me!" Hermione's voice was shrill.

"I'm telling him I'm not! Don't do anything. Sit back down." He turned his head as far as he dared. They sat. He met Slytherin's eyes again and hissed, "The wizard who killed my parents made six Horcruxes."

"That's not possible."

"It was new. He wanted to do something no one had ever done before, divide his soul into seven parts. I know he made at least four. He probably made all six. Two of them have been destroyed. One of them almost killed the greatest wizard I've ever known when he broke it. It left his right hand withered." Harry found himself shaking with rage as he told it. "The other," he said recklessly, "gave orders to the basilisk you left in Hogwarts so it Petrified Hermione and a lot of other students and almost killed me and Gin-- and my-- and Ron's sister."

Perhaps he shouldn't have brought up the basilisk.

Slytherin's eyes bored into him like bits of dark ice. "My basilisk. He should not have been able to give orders to my basilisk, not and have them obeyed."

Harry swallowed. He would rather not have said this with a wand at his throat. "He's your last descendant."

"Murdering Hogwarts students. Making Horcruxes."

Harry considered a variety of responses and settled on a simple, level, "Yes."

"You dare to tell me this?" Slytherin swore. "I can see you're one of Godric's!"

"Thank you," Harry said evenly.

Slytherin swore at him again, with considerable venom.

Harry wasn't shaking anymore. "I had to kill your basilisk. I wouldn't have been able to say this until recently, but if it... if she used to be anything like the one I met a few weeks ago, I'm sorry. She wasn't talking about anything other than killing, though, and I don't think she would have listened to me. One of her fangs broke off in my arm and I used it to destroy that Horcrux."

"A basilisk's fang will destroy a great deal," Slytherin said. "It should have killed you."

As Slytherin himself hadn't killed him yet, Harry assumed this meant that it had been very unlikely for him to have survived, rather than that it would have been preferable if he hadn't. "There was a phoenix."

"Ah."

"He wanted souvenirs of the Hogwarts Four. Especially you. He's proud of being your Heir. He made a Horcrux of that locket, too. I need to find out for sure if it still is one, and if it is, how to get rid of it."

Slytherin stared at him. Harry stared back. The smoke from the fire was getting into his eyes. Then he felt something rub up against his leg and jumped, hoping it wasn't the Runespoor or something at least equally venomous.

A loud and distinctive purr rumbled upward and filled the small room, vibrating against Harry's right shin.

Slytherin's eyes flicked downward, and he finally lowered his wand, looking abruptly very tired. "Well, the Kneazle likes you," he said. "He wouldn't stand for you if you were a Dark wizard."

Crookshanks stopped twining around Harry's ankles and switched to Salazar's, meowing once loudly and then returning to his thunderous purr.

"If you were a Dark wizard," said Harry, "I think you would have killed me by now."

Salazar's mouth flexed in a humorless smile. "Don't take that for granted. Not all Dark wizards are so hasty. But even a part-Kneazle is generally a good indication." He leaned down to scratch Crookshanks behind the ears. Crookshanks stood up on his hind legs and dug his front claws into the seat of the bench.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you about it. But your descendant is. Voldemort is." The name, in Parseltongue, felt like a glob of sticky slime in his mouth. Harry wanted to cough. "He killed my family and he's trying to rule the wizarding world or destroy it, I'm not sure which. And...." He nodded at the locket.

"Horcruxes," Salazar said gloomily. "What detection spells have you used on it so far?"

Harry blinked at the abrupt transition to shop talk. "Er, none yet," he said with some embarrassment. "We'd meant to take it somewhere else first... the house it was in... there were a lot of Dark artifacts to interfere."

"We'll take it out after supper and examine it, then. I have considerable skill at getting around magical traps, but if there's to be any damage, I'd prefer it not be dealt too near." He paused. "And after that, I suppose I'll have to take you to Hogwarts."

"Er," said Harry, feeling that he must have missed something. "You will?"

"One Horcrux, especially far removed from its creator and with my spellwork underneath his, I should be able to deal with. If you intend to find and destroy three more in your own time -- and end my line, which seems to have grown both crooked and disappointingly narrow -- you will first have to return to your own time. I can't do that for you."

"But you'd return to Hogwarts with us?" What were they doing to history?

Salazar's smile was twisted. "How will you talk to anyone there if I don't?"

Harry blinked. "Good point."

"Talk to your friends," Salazar told him. "Meanwhile, I owe Jakinda an explanation."

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