The days that followed were a whirlwind of preparation. Charlus and Ammon moved with the precision of seasoned warlocks, gathering the rare and volatile ingredients needed for the ritual. Ancient scrolls, some so fragile they threatened to crumble at a breath, were carefully unfurled under Ammon's watchful eye. Rare herbs were procured from shadowed markets, their sellers speaking in hushed tones as they exchanged whispered words of warning. Artifacts, imbued with power older than recorded history, were handled with reverence and the sort of wary respect one would give a loaded wand.
Dorea, ever the watchful sentinel, observed the proceedings with a critical eye. "I do hope this ritual of yours doesn't end with Harry bursting into flames, Ammon," she remarked, the edge of her voice sharp as a dagger.
Ammon, unruffled, met her gaze with a small, knowing smile. "The goal is to extract the darkness, Lady Potter, not incinerate the boy. Though I will admit, the line between the two can be rather thin."
Sirius, lounging in the corner with his arms crossed, smirked. "Well, that's reassuring. Nothing like a little uncertainty when dealing with soul magic. What's next? Spinning him around three times and throwing salt over his shoulder?"
Ammon arched a thick brow. "You jest, Black, but salt is an excellent purifier of dark magic."
Charlus exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If you two are finished, I'd rather focus on ensuring my grandson doesn't end up as an unfortunate footnote in a future history of magical catastrophes."
Ammon turned back to the collection of texts before him, his expression momentarily darkening. "This ritual will draw out the corruption within him," he admitted. "It will be painful. There is no way around that."
Charlus's jaw tightened. He had spent a lifetime navigating the treacherous world of magical politics, facing down threats from creatures and men alike, but nothing unnerved him more than the idea of Harry suffering. "How painful?" he asked, his voice low, deadly.
Ammon met his gaze squarely. "Excruciating."
The room fell silent. Even Sirius, usually one to mask his emotions with a quip, sobered at the word.
Dorea stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Is there no other way?"
Ammon's expression softened slightly. "If there were, I would tell you. This is the only way to ensure that the fragment of Voldemort's soul is not just removed, but utterly annihilated. Anything less would leave a trace, and a trace would be enough."
Charlus let out a slow breath. He turned to Dorea, their eyes meeting in silent understanding. There was no choice here—not really. "Then we do what must be done."
Sirius straightened, his usual bravado subdued but not extinguished. "Harry's strong. He's a Potter. He'll get through this."
Charlus looked at his grandson's godfather and, for once, found himself in rare agreement with him. "Yes," he said quietly. "He will."
—
The chamber was ancient, its walls lined with hieroglyphs that seemed to shimmer with latent magic. Candles flickered in their sconces, casting elongated shadows across the intricate runes that had been painstakingly carved into the stone floor. Charlus Potter stood at the head of the ritual circle, his imposing presence unshaken as he surveyed the scene with the critical eye of a battlefield commander.
"Are we certain about this, Ammon?" Charlus asked, his voice clipped but laced with the weight of a man who had seen too much to be easily unnerved.
Ammon Raza, his sharp features illuminated by the eerie glow of the circle, exhaled slowly. "Charlus, if there were another way, I would tell you. This is the only path." His deep voice carried the wisdom of centuries, and though he was one of the few men in the world Charlus respected, it did not mean he was above interrogation.
"Funny how 'the only path' always involves dark rituals, blood magic, and the ever-so-slight chance of catastrophic failure," Sirius muttered, adjusting the cuffs of his robe. "You'd think we'd get a punch card at this point—ten deadly rituals and the next one's free."
Dorea, regal as ever, arched a brow. "A pity sarcasm isn't a shield, Sirius. You'd be impervious."
Sirius smirked. "And yet here we are, trusting an ancient Egyptian ritual instead of, say, a nice chat over tea and biscuits."
Before anyone could respond, a sudden flare in the fireplace turned the emerald flames into a roaring inferno. From within stepped Arcturus Black, his long, dark robes billowing like a storm rolling through the chamber. At his side, his wife, Melania, her beauty undiminished by the years, held young Harry's hand.
"Ah, just in time," Sirius quipped. "We were just discussing whether or not we'd all die horribly. Now we can put it to a vote."
Harry, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air, tugged his hand free from Arcturus's grasp and sprinted toward Charlus. "Grandpa Charlus!"
Charlus, ever the stoic, bent down just enough to catch the boy in a firm embrace. "You're very brave, Harry." His voice softened, the granite edges smoothing just slightly. "This will make you better. I promise."
Melania, ever graceful, swept forward and gently brushed a lock of Harry's unruly hair aside, exposing the lightning-shaped scar. Her dark eyes, warm yet filled with steely resolve, met Charlus's. "He will be alright." It was not a question; it was a demand wrapped in velvet.
Arcturus's gaze, sharp as a blade, flicked to Ammon. "If this goes wrong, old friend, you do realize what will happen?"
Ammon met his stare with unwavering calm. "If this goes wrong, Arcturus, you may personally skin me alive."
Arcturus inclined his head. "Good."
Harry swallowed hard and looked up at Charlus. "Will it hurt?" His voice was small, but his green eyes—so very much like his mother's—held the courage of a true Gryffindor.
Charlus exchanged a glance with Ammon before kneeling. "It may hurt, Harry. But we will be here. You are not alone."
Harry nodded once, gripping Charlus's hand as he was guided to the center of the circle. The adults took their places around him, each a sentinel in this war against darkness.
Ammon began the incantation, his voice rolling through the chamber like the wind over ancient sands. The runes ignited, their golden light weaving a protective barrier around Harry. The air thickened, humming with barely restrained power.
Then the screaming started.
Not Harry's, but something darker—something inhuman. A shadow coiled within the barrier, twisting, shrieking, resisting. The scar on Harry's forehead split open, raw magic spilling forth. He screamed, clutching his head, as the chamber trembled.
Dorea's grip on her wand tightened, but she held firm. Arcturus's expression remained a mask of iron, though the knuckles of his wand hand turned white. Melania murmured soothing words in a language lost to time, her voice a beacon in the storm. Charlus did not move. He did not flinch. He merely watched, waiting for the moment to strike.
The shade fought with the desperation of a trapped animal, but the circle held. It writhed, forming a grotesque semblance of a face—Voldemort's face. Red eyes gleamed with hatred as it let out one final, ear-piercing shriek.
And then it was gone.
Harry collapsed into Charlus's waiting arms, his small body trembling but whole.
Ammon exhaled, his normally unshakable composure slightly rattled. "It is done."
Charlus, cradling his grandson, barely spared him a glance. "You are certain?"
Ammon hesitated. "Yes… but there is something else."
Charlus's golden eyes snapped to his. "Speak."
Ammon's expression darkened. "The soul fragment… it was too degraded. This was not his only Horcrux."
Arcturus's voice was steel wrapped in silk. "How many?"
Ammon's gaze swept the room, heavy with unspoken knowledge. "At least five more."
Silence stretched, thick and oppressive. Then Sirius let out a humorless laugh. "Of course. Because just one wouldn't have been enough. No, let's just toss soul pieces around like party favors."
Charlus's jaw tightened. "Then we destroy them all."
Sirius clapped his hands together. "Well, I always did want a nice family bonding activity. Murdering soul fragments sounds like a proper Black family pastime."
Dorea sighed. "How charming. Perhaps next we can go after a basilisk. Or battle a werewolf barehanded."
Charlus straightened, his spine a pillar of unyielding resolve. "We do what must be done. The boy is safe. But until Voldemort is truly eradicated, this war is not over."
Ammon placed a firm hand on Charlus's shoulder. "You have my aid, old friend. This knowledge is rare and dangerous, but it will serve us well."
Arcturus met Charlus's gaze. "Then let us begin."
Harry, still nestled in Charlus's arms, stirred. "Did we win?"
Charlus smirked, his voice softer than before but no less resolute. "We're just getting started, my boy."
—
The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the table, illuminating the ancient texts and weathered maps that lay scattered before them. The room was quiet save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth, yet the air was thick with tension, each of them acutely aware of the task ahead.
Charlus, sitting at the head of the table, leaned forward, his sharp gaze fixed on the map spread before him. His features were aristocratic and cold, the kind of face that could command attention without a word. "We need to start with the basics," he said in a tone that could cut through steel. "Voldemort's known movements, his interests. If he created these Horcruxes, he would've hidden them in places of significance. Places that... well, matter to him."
Arcturus, sitting beside him, raised an eyebrow. His voice was deep, rich with a centuries-old authority, and thick with the weight of countless lifetimes of experience. "Gringotts, Hogwarts, the Gaunt shack," he said slowly, the words heavy with meaning. "Those are places connected to his blood, his lineage. You don't need to be a bloody seer to understand that."
Sirius, ever the charismatic rogue with a grin as dangerous as his temper, leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms wide as though he had all the time in the world. "Oh, and let's not forget his obsession with the founders. Particularly Salazar Slytherin," he added with a playful glint in his eyes. "Maybe he's got some of the old relics stashed somewhere, thinking he's got the whole 'Slytherin heir' thing figured out. You know, a snake-shaped ring, maybe some old bloody goblets? I'm sure they'd all look smashing in his secret lair."
Charlus' lips curled into a barely perceptible smile, though his voice was unyielding. "If you're quite finished, Sirius, I'd appreciate it if we could focus on actual information rather than your... whimsies." His voice was as cold as the winter wind, a master of savage burns wrapped in the elegance of nobility.
Sirius' grin only widened, unfazed. "Touché, old man. But it's always fun watching you try to be serious." He leaned in, flicking through the pages of an ancient book. "The problem, as I see it, is that we're hunting a ghost. A man who doesn't mind being just a whisper in the shadows, hiding in plain sight."
Ammon, who had been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat. His tone was calm, almost meditative. "And let us not forget that this is not just any hunt," he said, his eyes narrowing as if anticipating the battle ahead. "These Horcruxes are heavily protected by dark magic. The more we know, the more we prepare. But we must proceed with extreme caution. No room for error."
Arcturus' gaze hardened, and he leaned back in his chair with an audible creak. "Caution, yes. But caution and decisive action are not mutually exclusive," he said. His eyes locked onto Sirius. "You'll need to refrain from heroics this time, my dear boy. We are not searching for the next grand adventure, but for a way to end one."
Sirius gave a mock salute. "I'll try, though I can't promise anything, Arcturus. You know me better than that." His grin was full of mischief, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he understood the seriousness of the mission. "Besides, I'm sure we'll make it interesting. We'll just need a few extra explosions."
Charlus glared at him, unamused. "And you'll be the first one to get us killed. Let's focus on the task at hand, shall we?" He paused, then turned his gaze back to the map. "I agree with Arcturus. We need to move decisively. The Gaunt shack is a likely candidate, but I have a feeling that Hogwarts will be the key."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Hogwarts? You mean the school full of children?"
"Not just children," Charlus replied, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Hogwarts is the place where it all started. His obsession with blood purity, his ties to the Slytherin legacy... Voldemort is bound to return there. And we will be ready."
Arcturus grunted in agreement. "It's where his soul resides, isn't it? The shack is an afterthought, a decoy. His true ambitions have always been tied to that accursed school."
Sirius, eyes gleaming, leaned forward, his tone suddenly serious. "I'm in. But I still think we could use a bit of flair. Maybe a few well-placed fireworks. You know, to make sure he knows we're coming."
Charlus sighed, rubbing his temples. "Let's just get this over with. The last thing we need is your... flair, Sirius."
Ammon's voice cut through the banter, steady and firm. "Agreed. We gather the information, we prepare, and we proceed as we must. No distractions, no detours. This is about survival."
The room fell silent, the weight of the words settling over them. Despite the jokes, the burns, and the familiar banter, they all knew the path ahead was fraught with danger. The dark magic they would face, the trials they would endure, and the consequences of failure were all too real.
Charlus, with the solemnity only a true leader could muster, gave a sharp nod. "Then let's begin."
—
The Potter Estate was suffused with an air of quiet urgency. A sense of gravity hung over the study, where Charlus Potter, Dorea Potter, Sirius Black, Arcturus Black, Melania Black, and Ammon Raza had gathered. The flickering candlelight only made their faces look more determined, as though the very shadows in the room knew what was at stake. The news of the Horcrux within Harry had shifted everything into motion, and now, with no time to waste, they were prepared to embark on a treacherous mission to destroy the rest of Voldemort's fractured soul.
Charlus Potter, the embodiment of cold authority and meticulous calculation, looked around the table, his piercing eyes scanning each of their faces. His voice, deep and unwavering, broke the silence. "We have to move quickly. Every moment we delay gives Voldemort an opportunity to regain his power." His tone was final, and there was no room for argument, not with him.
Dorea, ever the voice of reason, stood by her husband, her gaze sharp but laden with wisdom. "Charlus is right," she said, her voice low, as though tasting the weight of the words before speaking them. "The longer we wait, the stronger he becomes. We cannot afford the luxury of hesitation."
Sirius, with a characteristic shrug that bordered on defiance, ran a hand through his unruly hair. His sharp, wolfish grin cut through the tension like a knife. "We all know one Horcrux won't be enough. But it's a start. We need to hunt down every single one of them." His eyes gleamed with determination, yet there was a spark of mischief that never seemed to leave him. "And when we find them, I'll take pleasure in watching that bastard squirm when he realizes we're one step ahead."
Arcturus Black, ever the stoic patriarch, sat in his chair with an air of quiet menace. His posture was ramrod straight, the shadows of his past and centuries of knowledge weighing heavily on his every word. "We must think like him," he said, his voice a rich baritone that carried the weight of decades. "Consider every place significant to his life. Every place that holds a connection to his twisted soul. Voldemort is a creature of vanity and obsession. His Horcruxes will be tied to places and things that matter to him, no matter how twisted or trivial they might seem."
"Don't forget, the bastard is nothing if not predictable," Sirius muttered, his tone full of biting sarcasm. "He probably keeps his Horcruxes hidden in some dark, dank corner of the world like a sad, moody teenager. I'd bet anything they're all in places no one would think to look—he's got an ego that demands people underestimate him."
Melania Black, her dark eyes gleaming with a mix of intellect and ice, leaned forward from her seat. Her beauty was effortless, her grace in every gesture, yet there was a sharpness beneath her serene surface that made it clear she was not to be trifled with. "We should approach Narcissa," she suggested, her voice as cool as her gaze. "Lucius, being Voldemort's right-hand man, would surely know something of these Horcruxes. Narcissa may be more than willing to spill whatever she knows, especially if we play our cards right."
There was a tense silence in the room as the idea settled. Charlus' brow furrowed, the weight of the decision clear in his gaze. "Approaching Narcissa is a risk," he said slowly, his voice deliberately measured. "But it may be our best chance to get vital information." His eyes flicked to Sirius, then Arcturus, as if weighing the danger. "She's cunning, and Lucius is no fool. If she knows anything, we must extract it carefully. No mistakes."
Arcturus leaned forward, his aged face still sharp with the gravitas of centuries. "Lucius is a man of privilege and power. His loyalty to Voldemort is undeniable, but his family is a different matter. Narcissa is a mother. She will protect her own, especially now that the Dark Lord's grip is tightening. That may give us an opening." His voice was calm, but there was an underlying ferocity to his words, like a wolf sizing up its prey. "We must be subtle. No loud confrontations. I suspect she will respond better to a more... diplomatic approach."
Dorea's eyes, hard and discerning, cut through the banter. "We don't know where Narcissa's loyalties truly lie. She is a woman caught between love and duty, between family and fear." Her gaze turned toward Melania. "What is your sense of her? Can we trust her to help us?"
Melania's lips curled into a thin smile, knowing exactly how to navigate this delicate situation. "Narcissa may not be the cold, calculating person her husband is, but she is no fool. She will choose her family first, I believe. She has no love for the Dark Lord, and there is no loyalty left for him once she sees what he has done to her loved ones. But we must tread carefully. She is capable of immense fury if provoked."
Sirius, leaning against the stone wall, couldn't resist chiming in. "Ah, yes. Narcissa, the mysterious Black widow. What a lovely thought. But if she can point us toward a Horcrux, I'd kiss her feet." His grin was nothing short of wicked. "Well, maybe not kiss... I'd draw the line there."
"Don't be vulgar," Charlus cut him off, his voice harsh with reprimand, though the faintest twinkle in his eyes betrayed his amusement. "We need to be focused."
Ammon Raza, the stoic strategist with eyes that saw through the layers of the world, spoke last. His voice, deep and resonant, rumbled like thunder. "Risk is a necessary part of the game, but I agree with Arcturus. The delicate balance between persuasion and pressure will be our tool. If we approach her as a mother, we may yet sway her. But we must be prepared for betrayal. Narcissa will be playing a dangerous game with us, and if we make one wrong move..." He didn't need to finish the sentence—the weight of his warning hung in the air.
Charlus nodded, his expression grim but determined. "Then we shall make contact with her. We will be cautious, but we will move swiftly. Every minute we waste is a minute Voldemort could use to strengthen his hold. If Narcissa can help us, we will take that chance. But we will not let our guard down."
Sirius shot him a crooked grin. "Alright, let's put on our best 'we're not going to kill you' faces, and see what Narcissa has to say. After all, if she's going to give us a piece of the puzzle, we can at least pretend to be civil about it."
Arcturus gave him a withering glance. "Let us hope your charm doesn't backfire, Sirius. You do have a talent for making things... explode."
Sirius' grin never faltered. "It's what I do best, old man."
With their plan in motion, the group prepared to set out. The risks were immense, but they were all too aware of the stakes. The fate of the wizarding world depended on their next steps, and they would not falter. Whatever it took, they would find Voldemort's Horcruxes and destroy them—before it was too late.
—
As the preparations for the perilous mission began in earnest, Charlus, Dorea, and Sirius gathered in the dimly lit study, an air of quiet urgency settled over them. The looming danger of Voldemort's Horcruxes weighed on their minds, and every decision felt like it could tip the balance between life and death. They knew the task ahead would require not just cunning and bravery but an unshakable trust in those they called allies.
"We need warriors we can trust with our lives," Sirius said, his tone sharp with the same urgency that had been running through the veins of the Potter family since the beginning of the war. His eyes glinted with that ever-present mix of defiance and humor, as if he were preparing for another brawl in Diagon Alley, though the situation was anything but light-hearted.
Charlus nodded in agreement, his eyes hardening as the weight of leadership settled onto his shoulders. He was the one steering this ship, his icy composure never wavering. "The people we choose must be capable of handling themselves in the most dangerous of situations. If we fail, we risk not only Harry's life, but the entire world. So, no room for amateurs."
Dorea, standing next to him, her regal demeanor never faltering, added, "And they must be loyal. We can't afford distractions. If anyone's going to be second-guessing, they'll be out before we even reach the starting line." Her voice was a low, precise instrument of authority that cut through the tension like a blade. "No half-measures. Only those who understand the stakes."
Sirius smirked, clearly enjoying the challenge. "Which is why we're bringing in the real heavy hitters," he said, leaning casually against the fireplace. His grin widened as he spoke, the same devil-may-care swagger from his youth returning. "I'm talking about Moody and Benjy—the legends themselves. The kind of people who know how to deal with a bloody Horcrux without blinking an eye."
"Don't flatter yourself, Black," a gravelly voice drawled from the doorway, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of heavy boots. "I'm here because you're desperate, not because I'm a 'legend.'" Alastor Moody, the ever-intense former Auror, stepped into the room, his magical eye swiveling wildly, scanning every corner of the room with its unblinking vigilance. His face, permanently scarred from years of battle, was lit up by a wry smile—half humor, half madness.
"Speak for yourself, Moody," Sirius replied, offering a salute, though it was clear from the glint in his eyes that the two were well-accustomed to their jibes. "I didn't want you here just for your charm—I needed the bloke who can disarm a Death Eater before they even know they've been cursed."
Moody grunted in response, his weathered face tightening as his magical eye whirred to life. "I don't need flattery, Black. Just point me at the enemy, and I'll do what needs doing. If Harry's got a bloody Horcrux inside him, I'll make sure no one else does."
Benjy Fenwick stepped in next, his quiet yet imposing presence filling the room. Benjy had always been a shadow to the public eye—silent, calculating, and lethal. His face was a stark contrast to Moody's, clean-shaven and marked by the sharp, handsome features of a man who'd seen too much without letting it touch his soul. "I'll do my part," he said simply, the weight of his words carrying a depth of experience that few could match. "I'm in it for Harry—and for the ones who come after him."
Sirius chuckled, giving Benjy a mock bow. "What a heartwarming sentiment. Glad to have you along, Benjy. You can be my second-in-command of grim-faced seriousness."
Benjy didn't crack a smile. "It's not about the smiles, Black. It's about getting the job done." His voice was cold, devoid of unnecessary fluff, a stark contrast to Sirius's more animated approach.
Charlus, who had been standing apart, observing this exchange with a mixture of amusement and approval, finally spoke. His voice, like a dark, precise rumble, cut through the banter. "This is no joke, gentlemen. You're here because we're facing a power unlike anything we've ever known. Voldemort's Horcruxes are scattered, and the dark magic protecting them is nothing short of insidious. It's only by our collective strength that we'll have a chance of pulling this off."
Dorea's gaze swept across the room, her eyes like twin daggers. "And I'll remind you all, none of us is leaving until this is done. No one gets to go home until Harry is safe and Voldemort is dust."
Moody's magical eye spun wildly again. "Sounds like the kind of madness I've been waiting for," he muttered, eyeing the others as if considering their worth. "You think the Dark Lord is dangerous now? Wait until we come for him. I've got plans for those Horcruxes that'll make even him wish he'd stayed in the grave."
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Moody," Sirius quipped with a smirk. "We've still got to find the bloody things before we blow them up."
"Easy for you to say," Benjy added dryly, "You've always been one to blow things up without thinking first."
Sirius raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "You make it sound like that's a bad thing."
Arcturus, who had been quietly observing this exchange, finally spoke up in his deep, measured tone. "Gentlemen, while your banter is as amusing as ever, let us remember that we are about to embark on a mission where failure is not an option. The Dark Lord's influence is growing. We must act decisively."
"I'm with you on that," Benjy said. "Let's not waste any more time."
"Good," Charlus said, the authority in his voice unmistakable. "We move out tonight. Prepare yourselves."
Moody's lips twitched into a grim smile. "Tonight, then. No more games. No more running." He turned to Benjy, his magical eye gleaming with a mixture of respect and anticipation. "Let's remind them why they call us the ones who get things done."
Sirius clapped his hands, stepping back into the shadows with that same cocky smile. "Well, looks like it's time to get the party started. Voldemort won't know what hit him."
Charlus gave him a stern look, but the corner of his mouth twitched, ever so slightly. "Let's just hope you don't blow anything up before we can find the bloody Horcruxes, Black."
Sirius grinned widely. "I'm all about blowing things up, old man. But don't worry, I'm saving it for the grand finale."
Dorea shook her head, a rare smile breaking through her stern demeanor. "I'll never understand you two."
"And that's why it works so well, love," Sirius said with a wink.
With that, they were ready. The lines had been drawn, the team assembled, and the final push to destroy Voldemort's dark magic began. The fate of Harry—and of the wizarding world—hung in the balance, and this group of seasoned warriors was prepared to do whatever it took to ensure victory.
—
As the group made their way toward the Gaunt shack, the air grew thick with the stench of old magic and decay. The house, now more a ruin than a dwelling, seemed to sag under the weight of its dark history. Charlus, tall and imposing, stepped ahead, his wand raised with a practiced, elegant grace, as though it was an extension of his very being. He had the look of a man who had seen the worst the world had to offer—and wasn't about to be caught unprepared.
"Keep your wits about you," he muttered, his voice low and steely. "This place reeks of death and desperation. Quite the combination, really."
Sirius, walking just behind him, couldn't help but flash a grin, sharp as a blade. "Well, it does have that whole charming vibe," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Perhaps we should've brought a bouquet."
Arcturus, ever the one to remain stoic and unnerving, cast a glance over his shoulder at Sirius. "I believe you're confusing this with a trip to the market, Sirius," he said, his voice as cold as the stone beneath their feet. "Keep your distractions to a minimum. It's not a bouquet we're after—it's Voldemort's soul."
Raza, their silent companion, stood a little apart from the group, his hawk-like eyes scanning the ruins. "Voldemort's soul, eh?" He growled in his deep, rumbling voice, the words coming out like gravel from a pit. "I've heard worse ideas. At least this one's a little more... tangible."
The group arrived at the dilapidated shack, its walls broken and sagging, the remnants of its former grandeur all but lost. A musty, stale air clung to the place, and as Ammon extended his magical senses, he could feel the lingering traces of dark magic—a faint, almost thick pulse that beckoned them inward.
"We're not alone," Ammon spoke softly, his voice tight with anticipation. "The energy here is... still active. Someone's been using this place."
Charlus nodded. "No surprises there. It's where Voldemort's origins lie." He looked over at Sirius, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps we can finally finish what he started?"
Sirius smirked, the fire of a challenge lighting his eyes. "You do realize that we're the ones who made the challenge, right? I'm just here for the show." He cracked his knuckles as they advanced, casting a casual glance at Arcturus. "You've got a plan, right? Or are we improvising this time?"
Arcturus gave him a withering stare, his sharp features growing more severe. "Do you think I would risk it without a plan?" His voice carried the sharp, aristocratic tone that made it sound like every word was carved from ice. "The thought of improvising doesn't sit well with me. But I do believe someone here thrives on chaos." His gaze flicked back to Sirius, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Though I'll admit, a bit of flair in the execution isn't necessarily unwelcome."
Moody, who had been silent up until this point, let out a gruff chuckle. "You two would argue over a puddle of water if you had the chance. Focus on the task." His eyes narrowed, flicking toward the shack. "I've been in worse places. But something tells me this one's got a bite." His hands instinctively rested on his wand, the eye in his magical socket twitching with every subtle movement.
With a flick of his wrist, Charlus started the incantation to weaken the door's protective wards. The hinges groaned as the barrier buckled under his steady, almost meditative pressure. A slow, deliberate push, and the door cracked open, revealing a darkened interior.
Inside, the temperature seemed to drop with each step they took. Ammon led the way, his fingers twitching as he cast subtle detection charms, guiding them through the darkened hallways. As they ventured deeper, the walls seemed to whisper, carrying echoes of dark rituals and forgotten horrors.
"It's here," Ammon muttered, kneeling before the floorboards in the main room. "There's something beneath."
Charlus nodded, eyes flashing as he surveyed the room. "Of course there is. Dark magic tends to root itself deeply, doesn't it?" He glanced around, voice dripping with his signature dry wit. "The house itself is as miserable as the man who lived here. If the Horcrux is anything like Voldemort, it's hiding in plain sight."
Together, they cast a series of spells, forcing the floorboards apart. Sirius, ever the resourceful one, grinned as he used his superior strength to pry up the last remnants of the barrier, revealing a hidden compartment beneath.
And there, nestled in the compartment's dark recess, was the ornate box they had been searching for. The air felt heavy as they approached it, the weight of centuries of dark history pressing down upon them.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "This is it? After all the run-around, it's a little too easy."
Raza grunted, taking a step back as he eyed the box. "Easy? Nothing about this will ever be easy. Dark magic's a tricky thing."
With a careful hand, Charlus lifted the box, feeling its weight. There was something wrong about it, a subtle dark pull, but he remained unfazed. He opened it with the delicate precision of someone used to dealing with the most dangerous of magical artifacts.
Inside lay a ring, its stone gleaming eerily in the faint light of the shack. Charlus's eyes narrowed as he recognized the symbol of the Deathly Hallows engraved in the setting. "The Resurrection Stone," he whispered, voice steady but filled with an underlying tension. "And within it—Voldemort's soul."
Ammon's expression darkened as he observed the ring. "It's a Horcrux, no doubt about it. But..."
Charlus's gaze flicked to Arcturus, his tone unwavering. "We cannot risk destroying the Resurrection Stone. It's too important."
Arcturus didn't flinch. "We'll find a way. There's always a way. But we'll need precision."
Sirius, already too eager for action, chimed in. "Can we just blow it up already? It looks like it wants to be destroyed."
Charlus gave him a pointed look, full of a mixture of disdain and admiration. "Why use a sledgehammer when a scalpel will do?"
Moody grunted, his one good eye locked on the ring. "We isolate the Horcrux. Destroy it. Leave the rest intact."
A tense silence filled the room, and then, with Ammon's guidance, they began the delicate work of separating the Horcrux's dark magic from the stone. Each word of the incantations was precise, each gesture measured, as if they were surgeons dissecting a particularly venomous creature.
Finally, with a collective effort, the Horcrux was sealed within a shimmering, ethereal barrier, and the stone sat untouched, glowing faintly in the darkness.
Charlus exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. "Well done, everyone," he said, his voice rich with approval. "Now, let's finish this."
Sirius gave a sharp nod, eager. "Finally! Let's take this bastard down."
Together, their wands were raised, channeling pure energy into the contained dark magic. The air crackled with power, and the Horcrux inside the barrier started to shriek as the energy blasted it apart.
The explosion of dark energy was violent, but controlled, and with a final, deafening crack, the Horcrux disintegrated into dust. The Resurrection Stone, untouched, remained in the center of the room, glowing softly in the aftermath.
"It's done," Charlus said, his voice tinged with relief. "The Horcrux is destroyed. The stone is safe."
Raza gave a low, approving grunt. "For now."
Moody offered a rare, almost begrudging smile. "Aye, job well done."
Sirius, ever the troublemaker, raised an eyebrow. "What's next, then? Shall we go kick Voldemort's arse or are we taking the scenic route?"
Charlus allowed himself the faintest of smiles. "We take our time, Sirius. For now, we take what victory we can and prepare. The war is far from over."
And with that, they turned to leave, their minds already focused on the next step of their long, perilous journey.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Click the link below to join the conversation:
https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd
Can't wait to see you there!
If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:
https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007
Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s
Thank you for your support!