Something Better Than This

Chapter 12: Unhinged

Jakinda went whiter and whiter as Salazar relayed the conversation, which made Harry feel like a brute. Salazar had mentioned grandchildren already, but suppose Voldemort had been descended from Jakinda instead?

Harry only had so much time to watch this, however, as he had his own explanations to make. He was actually relieved when Hermione tugged insistently at his sleeve.

"What on earth," she whispered, "did you tell him?"

"Everything," Harry said a little numbly.

Hermione blinked. "What do you mean, everything? Harry, why was he holding a wand on you?"

Harry rubbed his throat. "I told you, he thought I was a Dark wizard."

Her whisper grew shrill. "Well, what gave him that idea?"

"Hermione, take it easy," Ron said. "I'm sure he's getting there." The look he gave Harry added quite plainly, You'd better be, anyway!

"I am getting there," Harry said. "I told him I was trying to find out about Horcruxes. That's when he drew his wand on me. I reckoned getting into a fight over his not approving of the idea I might be doing really nasty Dark Arts wasn't a good idea, so that's why I wanted you to sit down while I explained."

"Oh," said Hermione, "I suppose that does make sense."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly.

"So you told him you wanted to destroy them, not make them?" Ron asked. "It took an awful lot longer than that...."

Harry nodded wearily. "I did tell him that. And... I ended up telling him why. He knows about the locket. He knows about Voldemort. He knows that I killed his basilisk and used the fang on one of the Horcruxes. I told him Voldemort killed my parents and that I'm hunting him, and I told him Voldemort's his descendant."

"You told him you killed his basilisk and are trying to kill his last descendant who's gone completely mad, and this got him to lower his wand?" Ron shot the Slytherins a disbelieving look. "Did you mention the part about Voldemort not liking Muggle-borns? Because it didn't sound like he was any too fond of them either."

Harry thought back over the conversation. "I... don't think I got to that part. I told him Voldemort was proud of being his Heir and that he'd tried killing students, but not specifically that that was why."

Hermione frowned. "What do you think he'd do if he did know? Turn us out?"

"I don't know." Harry glanced over to where Crookshanks was now artfully making friends with a very pale Jakinda. "He and Crookshanks like each other. He was going on about Crookshanks being part-Kneazle, and Kneazles being good about not putting up with Dark wizards and about getting their owners back home when they're lost."

"Yes," Hermione said, "that's all in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. I've been fairly certain that Crookshanks was part Kneazle for quite some time now. He hasn't got the coat, but the body shape and behavior are very telling. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, for one thing," Harry said, ticking off points on his fingers, "he'll take a part-Kneazle as being at least roughly as reliable as a pure Kneazle. I don't know if that extends to human beings, but it's something." He put down a second finger. "He doesn't like the Dark Arts, at least not Horcruxes." Third finger. "I don't know if he's connected Voldemort's being his heir to the idea of being against Muggle-borns. I don't know whether he'd approve of that either, especially considering I could always tell him how Voldemort's been pretty hard on purebloods too. And not just 'blood traitors' either, the ones working for him." He looked at his hand, then folded his arms on the table and hunched over them. "I think I'll try not to bring it up until after we get to Hogwarts."

Ron and Hermione both stared at him. "I think you left something out, mate," Ron said. "We're going to Hogwarts? Not that it doesn't sound like a good idea, but..."

"He said he'd take us to Hogwarts. And interpret for us. At least, he said he was coming and asked how else I thought we'd be able to talk to anybody there if he didn't." Harry smiled crookedly. "He was talking about trying Dark-detection spells on the locket, too, to see whether it's still a Horcrux or not. I don't think he's happy at all, but he says he's going to help." He paused. "After supper. I suppose we must be invited."

"Well, that's good, anyway." Ron said. "Getting some help, I mean. Even if it is from somebody we really wouldn't expect."

"Yeah." Harry looked sideways again. "Well... maybe we ought to offer to help with the soup."

Salazar looked warily at Harry when he approached again, but accepted the offer and seemed at least a little pleased by it. Harry quietly translated instructions for Ron and Hermione; the purple things turned out to be carrots, and the soup was starting to smell very good. It was enough to make Harry start to feel hungry, anyway, though his appetite was muted by feeling bad about what he'd just told Salazar Slytherin. That definitely wasn't something he'd expected. He hadn't planned on telling Slytherin that much in the first place, but that had been out of caution, which he'd ended up throwing to the wind. Now... well, now he'd told nearly all the things he would have thought might get him in trouble with their host, and Salazar was still offering to help anyway.

Harry felt a little guilty about not mentioning the one last item that might change things... but then, if Slytherin would change his mind and refuse help over Harry's opposition to Voldemort's hatred of Muggle-borns, Harry rather thought he deserved to be taken advantage of. And if he wouldn't, then it wouldn't make that much difference to tell him a little bit later.

There wasn't a great deal of conversation over the evening meal. For one thing, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had searched through the house at Grimmauld Place from morning until quite late in the afternoon, and several Doxies had dumped a Chizpurfle-infested rag and an oozing Flobberworm into the very generous lunch Mrs. Weasley had packed for them, which had required giving Crookshanks a bath and completely destroyed everyone's appetites at the time. The Slytherins' cooking was quite good, and by this time they were all hungry. Even more than that, however, there really didn't seem to be anything to say. Or rather, there was probably a lot to say, but Harry couldn't think of anything he wanted to say. Apparently neither could anybody else.

After the meal, however, Salazar asked Harry several more very brisk questions and then summoned him outdoors. Ron and Hermione followed without drawing comment, but when Jakinda started outside as well and picked up the gardening hoe, Salazar stopped and sent her back into the house. A faint iridescent glimmer washed over it as she shut the door.

"If anything goes wrong," Salazar said in answer to Harry's questioning look, "I'd prefer her to be as protected as possible."

There was plenty of light left in the evening as they followed the older wizard out through the trees. Salazar abandoned any semblance of a path very quickly, striding over damp ground and between tree trunks. He gave no sign of being bothered by the rise of a cloud of midges, which made Ron and Harry swear and all three students swat.

They managed to leave the biting insects behind, however, and in the end came out into a second, smaller clearing. All the trees were leaning away from it, and despite the sunlight that penetrated even with the long shadows of the evening, the ground was bare. It was also surprisingly dry and looked as if someone had swept the dirt with a broom in concentric rings, leaving tiny ripples in the dust. Or perhaps as if something had exploded in the center.

"Put the locket in the middle, there," Salazar instructed him.

Maybe something had exploded in the center of the clearing, then. Harry leaned down and placed the golden locket carefully in the very innermost circle. As his fingers touched the dirt, they encountered something unexpectedly hard underneath it, and he brushed away a little of it to find that beneath the thick covering of dust and almost normal-looking dirt was a layer of orange glass. Harry looked around, but Salazar was busy drawing a faint glowing line around the edge of the barren spot. Harry thought the trees leaned a little further away, keeping even their branches and leaves outside the circle. Salazar stopped beside Ron and Hermione to take them by the shoulders and pull them fully inside his glowing line, then stepped inside it himself. Pale turquoise-colored flames instantly leapt up all around the clearing, high overhead; Harry jumped, not only because of the turquoise flames but because a frigid draft of air had just whooshed upward around him as well. After a few seconds of crackling, the flames congealed into what looked like a very tall tube of ice. It felt like one, too; Harry didn't try to touch it, but the air next to it was very cold.

Harry stared upward. "What is that?"

"Pardon?" asked Salazar, and Harry realized he had of course spoken in English.

"Sorry," he said, looking over at Salazar. "I asked what the... tube thing was."

"A shield." Salazar knocked on it; there was a hollow sound, but he took his hand away quickly and rubbed what looked like white frost off his knuckles. "It should help to keep any damage from spreading through the forest."

Harry's eyes widened. "What kind of spells are you expecting to find on the locket?"

"How should I know? You've told me of spells that somehow allowed a Horcrux to command my basilisk and that lashed back and destroyed the arm of someone you described as a very powerful wizard. I'd rather not take any more chances than are likely to be useful."

"Er, right. Makes sense." Harry went to explain to Ron and Hermione why they were all now surrounded by an enormous tube of icy green magic while Salazar did something to the locket that appeared to involve conjuring a large dome-shaped, dirty yellow sponge. Harry assumed this was another sort of shield, although he wasn't ruling out the possibility that it was a sort of cleansing spell for the removal of magical residues, designed by somebody with a really odd sense of humor.

When Salazar offered an explanation, it turned out the sponge was something rather like a one-way mirror, or a shield in one direction and a focusing lens in the other. Harry could see that Hermione was on the verge of bursting with questions at this information, but to his considerable relief she restrained herself from asking for anything other than a careful and distinct repetition of the incantation and wand motion, which were rather complex. Salazar instructed them to aim their Dark-detection spells of choice anywhere on the blobby sponge, which should both make them more sensitive and provide some protection in the event of any sort of backlash.

After several turns apiece (and several extra turns for Salazar), they had definitely confirmed that the locket was a Horcrux. They had also found a variety of relatively minor if unpleasant curses as well as identifying a few far nastier ones. Hermione had been able to disarm several of the lesser trap spells and had provided Salazar, through Harry, with a textbook-perfect description of a recently invented and particularly complex one that had allowed him to remove it artistically in a puff of blue smoke.

At last the locket was left with, aside from the bound fragment of Voldemort's soul, only the one primary defensive spell, stripped of its accessories, supports, and triggers, and what seemed to be a much simpler one holding it shut. Unfortunately, the two seemed quite inextricably intertwined and fused together. Reducto had little or no visible effect, although the locket rocked a little underneath the onslaught and Harry's scar began to itch again.

"I think we'll have to risk setting off the spell almost as he expected," Salazar said at last. "But only almost." And he produced a sort of ghostly hand, in a disturbing deathly greenish color, which followed the motions of his own. It extended into the spongy dome and picked up the locket; Salazar frowned in concentration, searching for a catch. About the time the sun was setting, he taught Harry the spell for the false hand, which came out in a cloudy copper color for Harry instead of greenish, and let him try for a while. Ron cast Lumos so they could still see what they were doing; Harry watched the light glimmer on the golden surface of the locket as he felt at some mechanism that was surely the catch. His scar itched vilely, and sweat rolled down his forehead.

Under her breath, Hermione muttered, "Open sesame."

The locket's catch gave way, but Harry instinctively clenched his hand, causing the ghostly one to hold the locket shut -- because blackness like some sort of corrosion or mildew had run suddenly all along the ornate 'S' marking the locket as Salazar Slytherin's and erupted outward, ripping the spongy shield into pieces.

It was a shiny black serpent, with scales that looked like jagged metal and glowing eyes. Harry had never seen anything quite like it in person or in any book, although it had something of the same feel as Malfoy's Serpensortia-conjured snake. Its lower jaw gaped downward and it breathed out a dark, foul cloud. The remaining pieces of the sponge sucked it up, but Salazar said in horror, "Nundu's breath!"

Harry had no idea how Voldemort would have obtained and trapped the plague-spreading breath of the deadly leopardlike Nundu in a magical snake construct, but it was definitely a nasty choice. In sudden inspiration, he snapped at the creature, "Shut your mouth and hold your breath!"

Evidently Voldemort had neglected to make sure this particular construct couldn't be commanded by other Parselmouths. The gleaming black jaws clacked together, and it reared up like a cobra and then stood stiff and poised that way. No more clouds issued from it.

Salazar and Harry looked at each other. The older man's mouth twitched slightly at one corner, and then they both began to laugh. Salazar ordered the serpent to continue holding its breath but to eat its own tail, and it closed its jaws again over the tip and sucked itself down into nothing.

Harry used the false hand to thumb the locket open; it came easily this time, but there was a faint cracking sound. Both the clasp and hinges were broken. A desolate wail rose up from the pieces, setting Harry's teeth on edge; it was the polar opposite of phoenix-song, a purely selfish sound of mourning and terror, mixed together with sensations like fingernails on a chalkboard and teeth on a fork's tines and, if there could be such a thing, a lugubriously self-pitying Dementor.

At last it died away, and Harry unclenched the teeth he had been grinding together and massaged his aching jaw, dispelling the extra hand. "Are we done?" he asked.

Salazar jabbed at the pieces of the locket with his wand in an analytical way and then scooped them up and offered them back to Harry. "It's empty," he said, regarding the pieces sadly. "I've taken off the spells of my own that would interfere with your travels, as well."

"If... if you want them back, you know, I could leave them with you. They're yours, after all."

Salazar shook his head. "The one that belongs in this time is mine. This one should have remained with my heirs, but not put to such purposes. If it had come into your godfather's possession and was part of your inheritance from him, I suppose you have a more immediate claim on it than anyone else available. I don't believe I ought to keep it; there's every possibility that trying to leave it in this time, if and when you return to your own, would cause some sort of unpleasant interference."

"Oh." Harry put the pieces back in his pocket. He wasn't sure what he ought to do with them; they certainly didn't appeal to him as a souvenir, however much the locket when whole had pleased Voldemort. "I'll, er, take care of them. Maybe I can get it repaired. That wouldn't restore the Horcrux, would it?"

"Of course not. Well...." Salazar frowned. "It certainly shouldn't, but then, I am not familiar with the possible consequences of having more than one of them. I'd have to give some thought to the theory."

"I won't do anything like that until Voldemort's defeated," Harry said. "I wouldn't have time until then, anyway."

"I suppose not." Salazar touched his wand to the shield around the clearing, and it vanished. They began walking back through the trees. "I'd prefer not to set out for Hogwarts until morning, even by Apparating. I don't care to try making this sort of explanation until after I've slept. The three of you are welcome to stay for the night; you can have..." He paused. "Are those two married?"

"Wait -- what?" Harry followed the direction of Salazar's nod. Well, there wasn't anyone else he could have been talking about, but still. "Ron and Hermione? No." After a brief pause, he added, "Not yet, anyway."

"Then you and Ron will sleep in my bedroom, and Hermione may share with Jakinda. Unless any of you would prefer the floor in the main room."

"That sounds fine. Thank you." Harry told Ron and Hermione about the suggested sleeping arrangements, which they didn't object to. They went around several more trees. "You said you had grandchildren, didn't you?" he asked Salazar.

"Yes. I have a son as well, with children of his own. Why?"

"I'd just wondered," Harry said quickly.

Salazar looked over at him. "You were thinking something you're embarrassed to tell me."

Harry flushed. "I wondered whether otherwise, the way you'd reacted to hearing about Voldemort, you might try to stop Jakinda from marrying."

"Try?" Salazar asked dryly. "But even if I could end my family line before it grows into your time, I would not. One madman, even if he is the last, is not reason for sacrificing a thousand years of worthier generations. There are always Dark wizards and madmen. Besides," he added as an afterthought, "according to Rowena's theories, it probably wouldn't work. History, she believes, is resilient. If it were possible to change what for you is history, you'd no longer be able to get back to your present -- though it might still exist alongside the other. And more likely it wouldn't accomplish anything at all. You might return to find that he'd been deluded about his ancestry."

"...I think he's deluded about a lot, but probably not that."

"Too bad. I'd prefer that idea."

There seemed to be little to say to this, but presently Harry asked instead, "Is Jakinda much younger than we are? Not that any of us are married yet, but you thought they might be, and I didn't think she was...." He had the general idea that remaining unmarried had been unusual at the time, even for a witch.

"You're, what, about seventeen years of age?" At Harry's nod, Salazar sighed. "So is she. Old enough, though with a wizard father she'll have somewhat more leeway before she's considered too old. I'm not sure what to do about a husband for her, though. I hate the thought of letting her go to a Muggle -- she's used to the conveniences of magic, even if she can't perform it, and they don't bathe. Much." He grimaced. "But too many wizards, even if they'd look at a Squib, would mistreat her, and I wouldn't be there...." He looked sharply at Harry again. "What, were you interested?"

"Me?" Harry nearly yelped, which was difficult in Parseltongue. "No, I--" He was caught between not wanting to sound as if he'd been having prurient thoughts about his host's daughter and not wanting to sound as if his not having them was because she was a Squib. "There's a girl," he said, "back... forward... er, home. I was thinking of her, I mean of asking her, if I survive the fight." Eventually. It might be just as well Ron couldn't understand this conversation. "Anyway, my mother was Muggle-born." He hadn't been going to bring that up. Oh, well, now that he had.... He added challengingly, "Brilliant, mind, and the head of Slytherin House at the time kept telling her she should have been one of his, but I shouldn't think you wanted a half-blood."

"Aah... for a Squib daughter, I could do worse," Salazar said with a shrug. The cottage, lit from one window, was coming into view through the forest, and Salazar quickened his steps so much that Harry, trying to keep up, nearly ran into a tree. "Aside from your being out of your own time, that is, which is a rather substantial obstacle. But if there's already someone you mean to get back to, it would be a moot point anyway. And now...." They stepped into the clearing, dodging around an obstinately stationary goat. "It's time for bed."

Jakinda was waiting anxiously and met her father with a glad cry of relief, presumably pleased that he had returned in one piece. Everything in the cottage appeared to have been cleaned and put in order while they were gone, and what had been rather too warm before (since this summer was anything but unseasonably cool, and having a fire going had been a bit much) was now much more comfortable, if a little smoky. Hermione and Crookshanks disappeared into Jakinda's room; Harry and Ron insisted on taking the floor instead of Salazar's bed, and they rolled up in light blankets. Despite the hard surface, Harry, at least, was tired enough to fall asleep within minutes.

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