Unending

July 2, 1993, 9:30 AM, Twelve Grimmauld Place, London

Harry Potter

The morning light filtered through the kitchen windows of Grimmauld Place, casting warm squares onto the aged wooden table where Harry sat with Adam. The familiar scents of breakfast lingered in the air— buttered toast, the last wisps of bacon, and the ever-present pot of tea that seemed to never quite empty. From the sitting room came the low murmur of conversation between Sirius and Remus, punctuated occasionally by Sirius’s barking laugh.

Harry couldn’t help but notice how Adam seemed to be moving through molasses this morning. His brother— and Harry still felt a warmth in his chest whenever he thought of Adam that way— was barely keeping his eyes open as he pushed eggs around his plate. Dark circles shadowed beneath his eyes, and every few minutes he would catch himself starting to nod off, jerking upright with a sharp intake of breath.

“Late night?” Harry asked casually, buttering another piece of toast. He tried to keep his tone light, though concern nagged at him. This wasn’t the first morning Adam had appeared at breakfast looking like he’d barely slept.

Adam’s head snapped up, a flash of something— alarm? guilt?— crossing his features before he schooled them into a more neutral expression. “Oh, um, yeah. Just lost track of time studying, you know how it is.”

Harry did know how it was, but something about Adam’s quick recovery made him wonder.

“Overdoing it again?” He asked, remembering how he’d passed by Adam’s closed door well past midnight, seeing light still spilling out from underneath.

“Mhm.” Adam mumbled through a mouthful of eggs, suddenly very interested in his breakfast. “Transfiguration. It’s getting more complex now.”

“McGonagall has been working you pretty hard.” Harry said, smiling. “Well, just remember that your studies will still be there tomorrow.”

The tension in Adam’s shoulders eased slightly at Harry’s words, but Harry caught the way his brother’s eyes flickered briefly toward the window, as though checking for something. It was such a quick movement that Harry might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching so carefully. But he had been watching, because that’s what older brothers did, wasn’t it?

“Want me to bring you more orange juice?” Harry offered, stepping off of his seat to reach for it. Adam nodded gratefully, and Harry noticed how his hands trembled slightly as he lifted his cup. Exhaustion, surely. What else could it be? Yet Harry couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something more to Adam’s late nights than simple studying.

He’s hiding something again, but what?

In the past, he would have been offended, but now, he just didn’t mind. Adam was a fount of secrets upon secrets, and it just wasn’t in his nature to share everything with everyone around him. Harry was growing to understand this, however much Adam’s quirks could grate at him, at times.

From the sitting room, Sirius’s laugh rang out again, followed by Remus’s quieter chuckle. The familiar sound seemed to ground them both in the moment, and Harry watched as Adam’s posture relaxed a fraction more. Whatever was going on with his brother, at least he was here now, sharing breakfast with his family. That had to count for something.

Harry watched as Adam suppressed another yawn, this one strong enough to make his eyes water. It wasn’t just the late nights— though those were becoming more frequent. It was the way Adam sometimes jumped at unexpected sounds, how his hand would occasionally drift to his pocket where Harry knew he kept his wand, the whispered conversations that stopped whenever anyone else entered the room.

If it had been anyone else, Harry might have been more worried.

But this was Adam, who’d spend weeks creating detailed charts of Muggle treadmills just because he found them interesting. Adam, who could talk for hours about theoretical magic and who probably knew more about magical creatures than most seventh years— save Hermione, perhaps. It made sense that he’d be absorbed in his studies, especially after everything that had happened.

“Pass the marmalade?” Adam asked, his voice pulling Harry from his thoughts. As Harry handed over the jar, he noticed a small scratch on Adam’s hand that hadn’t been there yesterday. It looked fresh, barely scabbed over.

“Everything alright?” Harry gestured toward the scratch.

“Oh, this?” Adam glanced at his hand as if seeing it for the first time. “Paper cut, I think.”

It didn’t look like any paper cut Harry had ever seen, but he nodded anyway, lost in his own thoughts for a few minutes. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor drew Harry’s attention back to the present. Adam had stood up, gathering his dishes.

Whatever was going on, Harry decided, he would keep a closer eye on his brother. Not to interfere— Adam had earned that trust— but to be there when, or if, Adam decided he needed help. Sometimes, Harry reflected, that was the most important part of being family.

Unbidden, memories of another kitchen, another breakfast table, began to surface. The Dursleys’ kitchen had always been spotless, gleaming with Aunt Petunia’s obsessive cleaning, but it had never felt warm like this one did. Even now, nearly two years since he’d been with them, he could still picture Dudley at the table, constantly demanding seconds while Harry had to be grateful for whatever scraps he was allowed.

The contrast between then and now struck him with particular clarity. Where Dudley had been cruel and dismissive, Adam showed genuine interest in Harry’s life, his thoughts, his feelings. Where his cousin had taken every opportunity to make Harry feel unwanted, Adam seemed to actively seek out his company.

It wasn’t just the big moments— like fighting alongside each other— but the small ones too. The way Adam would save interesting articles from the Daily Prophet to show Harry later, or how he’d remember tiny details from conversations they’d had months before, which Harry himself had forgotten.

A familiar ache settled in Harry’s chest as he watched Adam move around the kitchen. He couldn’t help but wonder how different things might have been if Dudley had been more like this.

They could have been allies in that house, friends even. Maybe they could have shared secrets, plotted ways to sneak extra biscuits, covered for each other when Aunt Petunia was on one of her rampages. Instead, all Harry had were memories of “Harry Hunting”, of broken glasses and bruised ribs, of a childhood spent learning that family didn’t always mean love.

Harry looked at Adam, and he felt a surge of protectiveness. Whatever Adam was up to— whether it was just studying or something more— at least he wasn’t alone. Harry would make sure of that. He thought about all the times he’d faced dangers at Hogwarts, how often he’d felt he had to handle everything by himself. Even with Tony, Su, Ron, Hermione and his unwavering support, there had been times when the weight of it all had likely felt crushing.

It was too late now for what-ifs with Dudley. Too late to build the kind of relationship that might have made both their childhoods easier. The last time Harry had seen his cousin was the night before his uncle had taken him to King’s Cross station. Maybe, when he and Dudley were grown up, he could…

Harry shook his head. Fixing that relationship would be like trying to build a bridge after the shores had already crumbled away.

He looked towards where Sirius and Remus were. This was his family now.

It wasn’t the one he’d been born into, and it was certainly not the one he’d been forced to live with, but it was the one he’d found all on his own.

The one he’d chosen. Maybe that was better, in its own way; Sirius, who understood what it meant to reject the family you were born to in favor of the family you choose; Remus, who showed him that gentleness could coexist with strength. And Adam, who had somehow brought all of them together because he just couldn’t help but read up on anything that seemed interesting. The boy had slipped into Harry’s life and filled a hole he hadn’t even known was there.

The ache in his chest transformed into something warmer as he watched Adam finally finish with the dishes. Yes, there were secrets between them right now— Harry was almost certain of it— but unlike with Dudley, these secrets didn’t feel like weapons waiting to be used. They felt more like trust waiting to be earned, and Harry could live with that.

Adam made his way back to the table, taking the cup of juice between his hands as if trying to absorb its cold. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he settled into his chair with a small smile that made Harry’s heart clench. It was the same smile he’d seen countless times over meals in the Great Hall, during quiet evenings in the common room, in the moments between the chaos that seemed to follow them both.

In the sitting room, the sound of shuffling papers suggested Remus was probably reviewing lesson plans— he’d consented to taking up teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Sirius’ voice drifted through, something about “that time James tried to…” followed by more laughter. The casual domesticity of it all felt precious to Harry, especially given everything that had happened recently.

“What are your plans for today?” Adam asked, his voice carrying a hint of genuine curiosity despite his exhaustion. He’d finally given up pretending to be fully awake, propping his chin on one hand while the other still cradled his orange juice.

Harry felt thoughts of the Dursleys slipping away like morning mist, replaced by the warm reality of the present. Through the kitchen window, he could see clouds scudding across the sky, promising a pleasant summer day ahead.

“Thought I might practice some new Quidditch maneuvers.” He said, watching Adam’s face carefully. “You’re welcome to join, if you’re not too busy with your… research.”

A flicker of something— regret?— crossed Adam’s features. “I’d like to, but I’ve got some things I need to…”

He trailed off, stifling another yawn.

“Another time, then.” Harry said easily, choosing not to press. Instead, he reached across the table and gave Adam’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Just don’t work yourself too hard, alright? Whatever you’re up to.”

Adam’s eyes widened slightly at the last part, but then his expression softened into a grateful smile.

“I won’t.” He promised, and even though Harry suspected there was more to it than simple studying, he could hear the sincerity in Adam’s voice. “Maybe we could fly this evening instead? After I’ve finished with… everything.”

“It’s a deal.” Harry agreed, standing up and gathering his own dishes. As he moved around the kitchen, he could hear Sirius and Remus’s conversation flowing into another round of reminiscence about their Hogwarts days. The familiar soundtrack of their morning made him smile.

Adam pushed himself up from the table, swaying slightly with fatigue. Harry pretended not to notice how he steadied himself against the chair, or the way his eyes darted to the window again, checking something only he could see.

“Harry?” Adam’s voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “Thanks for… you know. Being understanding.”

Harry turned from the sink, taking in the sight of his brother— tired, clearly carrying secrets, but still here, still trying to balance whatever burden he was carrying with being present for his family. It was so different from his own childhood experiences, yet somehow familiar too.

“That’s what brothers are for.” He said simply.

The wide smile that spread across Adam’s face at those words made any lingering concerns feel manageable. And here, in this moment, Harry knew with absolute certainty that this— this was what family should feel like.

oooo

Some time later…

Adam Clarke

Sirius and I stood side by side, watching as Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands clenched into nervous fists. The makeshift training area in Grimmauld Place had been cleared for the lesson, and a chalk circle now marked the spot where Harry was supposed to land. Dust motes floated in the dim light, disturbed only by the occasional flicker of a candle. 

Sirius, ever the confident instructor, twirled his wand between his fingers before gesturing at the circle.

“Apparition is all about intent and control. You focus on where you want to go, will yourself to be there, and… well, that’s about it.” He grinned. “Simple, right?” 

Harry didn’t look convinced. “Right.” He muttered, glancing at me as if hoping I’d contradict Sirius. 

“Don’t let him fool you.” I said. “It’s not that easy. If it were, no one would get splinched.” 

Sirius laughed.

“True, but that’s why we’re starting with short distances. Less chance of leaving anything behind.” He turned back to Harry. “Watch closely.” 

With barely a flicker of movement, Sirius disappeared. The air where he had been standing twisted, warping reality for a split second before he reappeared inside the circle, hands in his pockets, looking as though he’d never left. The sound of the Apparition was a soft pop— controlled, effortless. 

Harry exhaled. “That’s impressive.” 

Sirius smirked. “Comes with practice. Adam, you’re up next.”

“What makes you think I know how to do it?”

The look Sirius gave me was enough to make me smirk and shake my head.

“Fine, fine.” I nodded, rolling my shoulders to shake off any tension. I’d gotten something of a handle on the practice, but I still needed a lot to work with. Still, I closed my eyes, focused on the circle, and felt the magic coil in me. The sensation was strange, like pressing myself through a narrow tunnel, my body momentarily folding into something weightless and insubstantial.

Then, with a sharp crack, I landed. 

The moment my feet hit the ground, I knew it hadn’t been perfect. The force of the jump left a lingering pull in my gut, and the noise I’d made had been far too loud. Sirius winced. 

“Not bad.” He said, though his grin turned teasing. “If you were trying to alert an entire village to your arrival, that is.” 

I sighed. “Too much force?” 

“Way too much. Apparition’s not about power— it’s finesse. You don’t blast yourself from one place to another; you guide yourself.” He clapped me on the shoulder before turning to Harry. “Alright, your turn, kid.” 

Harry swallowed hard. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” 

Sirius grinned wider. “Only if you do it wrong.” 

I crossed my arms, watching as Sirius began walking Harry through the motions once again. As he spoke, I let my mind wander, reflecting on last night and the weight of the secret I carried. 

But I couldn’t dwell on it for long— Harry was about to make his first attempt.

I took a step back, giving Harry space as he closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. Sirius stood beside him, speaking in a calm, even voice, guiding him through the process.

“Visualize it.” Sirius instructed. “See yourself there. Feel yourself there.”

Harry nodded, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the doubt lingering behind his furrowed brow. I knew that doubt well— it had been there during my own first attempts. Apparition wasn’t just about magic; it was about trust. Trusting yourself to break apart and put yourself back together again.

As Sirius continued coaching, I let my attention drift. My hand instinctively brushed against my pocket, where the Resurrection Stone rested, its presence humming at the edges of my awareness.

I’d spent the better part of the night just feeling it. Letting its energy mingle with my own, waiting for something— some kind of reaction, some intrusive thought, some whisper from beyond the grave. But there had been nothing. No voices. No overwhelming compulsion to use it. Just its quiet, steady weight in my hand.

And yet, I knew what it could do. 

I glanced at Harry and Sirius, my mind playing out the possibilities. They could use it. Sirius, who had spent twelve years in Azkaban for a friend he couldn’t save. Harry, who had lost his parents before he could even form a memory of them. If I told them what I had, if I let them use it… would it give them peace? Or would it consume them? 

I exhaled slowly. The Resurrection Stone had a history of breaking men, of twisting their grief into obsession. Even Dumbledore, the wisest wizard I knew, had been ensnared by it so completely that it spelled the man’s death. What chance did Harry or Sirius have? 

No. 

I wasn’t ready to share this. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

Before I could spiral any further, a loud crack snapped me back to the present. Harry stumbled, standing about three feet from where he started— or at least, he tried to.

He hit the ground hard with a yell of pain, arms flailing as he twisted to grab at his left leg. His foot— or rather, the place where his foot should have been— was a raw, bloody mess. A few feet away, his missing foot still sat planted on the floor where he had been standing.

“Damn— ” Sirius swore, already moving toward him.

Harry clutched at his leg, panting through clenched teeth. “It hurts— it hurts!”

“It’s okay, Harry.” Sirius made sure to say quickly. “It’ll be okay okay.”

“You got splinched.” I kept my tone calm, stepping toward his abandoned foot. The sight of it was unsettling— still, I bent down and grabbed it. “Not the worst-case scenario, but definitely not ideal.”

Sirius gripped Harry’s shoulder as I placed the discarded foot close to his leg. “Breathe, kid. I know it hurts, but it’s fixable. Happens to a lot of people their first time. Hell, I left half of my fingers and nose behind once.”

Harry let out a shaky laugh. “Not helping.”

Sirius ignored him and pulled out his wand, muttering a spell under his breath. A cloud of faintly glowing purple smoke curled around Harry’s ankle. Within seconds, the missing foot reattached itself, sealing together seamlessly like it had never been severed at all.

Harry’s breath hitched as he tested it, wiggling his toes. “Oh, thank Merlin— “

“See?” Sirius grinned. “Good as new.”

Harry shot him a glare. “That was terrifying!”

“Welcome to Apparition.” I said dryly.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, still shaking slightly. “I think I’ll just stick to brooms for now, thanks.”

Sirius chuckled. “Not a bad idea.”

Then, he clapped his hands together. “Alright. That’s enough training for one day. I think we deserve a break.”

Harry groaned as he stood, still a bit unsteady. “Yeah. A break sounds good.”

“Diagon Alley?” Sirius suggested. “Bit of fresh air, maybe some ice cream? Might help get your mind off… you know, this.”

He gestured to where the remnants of the purple smoke were still dissipating.

To my surprise, Harry actually perked up at that. “Ice cream, huh?”

Sirius smirked.

“That’s the spirit.” Then he turned to me. “You in?”

I hesitated, my fingers brushing against my pocket where the Resurrection Stone still sat. The weight of it felt heavier now, a reminder of the thoughts that had plagued me all morning.

“Nah.” I said, shaking my head. “I’m feeling a bit tired. Think I’ll stay in and get some rest.”

Sirius studied me for a second, his expression unreadable. Then, with a shrug, he said. “Alright. Your loss.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I muttered. “Have fun. Bring me some vanilla ice cream, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“All right.” Harry gave me a curious look but didn’t press the issue. A moment later, the two of them headed for the door. The door clicked shut behind them, and silence settled over Grimmauld Place. I exhaled, rubbing a hand over my face as I turned away from the empty room. Finally alone. 

I climbed the stairs to my room, each step feeling heavier than the last. The house felt eerily quiet now, the usual hum of activity— Sirius’s laughter, the occasional thud of Kreacher muttering to himself— now absent. It left me alone with my thoughts, which was the last thing I wanted. 

I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, closing my eyes. The weight of the Resurrection Stone in my pocket was impossible to ignore. Slowly, I pulled it out, letting it rest in the palm of my hand. The black surface was smooth, cool to the touch, and yet it hummed— a faint, almost imperceptible pulse that resonated through my skin. 

I turned the stone between my fingers, my reflection barely visible on its polished surface. I could still feel its power lingering at the edges of my awareness, like the slow rhythm of a heartbeat. The knowledge of what it could do made my skin prickle.

Harry and Sirius had suffered so much loss. If I handed it to them, if I told them what it could do, they would use it— I had no doubt about that. And that was the problem. 

The Resurrection Stone didn’t bring back the dead. Not really. It just called forth shadows— fragments of people, bound to the world by the grief of those who summoned them. I had read enough about its history to know how it ended for those who used it. The stories were always the same. The Stone didn’t bring peace.

It brought longing. Obsession. And, in the end, death. 

Would Harry be able to resist the urge to see his parents again, even knowing it wouldn’t be real? Would Sirius be able to turn away from the temptation of speaking to James one last time? 

No. I knew how this would play out. The Stone would twist their grief, slowly, methodically, until it was all-consuming. Until nothing else mattered. Until they wasted away before their loved ones, lost in a dream they could never truly touch— just like the damn Mirror.

I clenched my fist around the Stone, my nails digging into my palm. 

I could not let that happen. 

But what was I supposed to do? 

Destroy it? No, I needed to use it. Besides, it was one of the Deathly Hallows— a true artifact of legend. Could it even be destroyed? And even if it could… should it be? 

A knock at the door startled me. I shoved the Stone back into my pocket just as the door cracked open. 

Remus stood there, already dressed to go out, his traveling cloak draped over his shoulders.

“Ah, there you are, Adam.” He said. “I’m heading out to Hogwarts for a meeting with the other professors. I just wanted to let you know.” 

I blinked, forcing myself to shake off my thoughts. “Right. Anything important?” 

He gave a small shrug.

“Just some coordination for next term. With everything that’s happened lately, Professor McGonagall wants to make sure the staff is prepared for any disruptions.” His gaze flickered over me, studying me with quiet concern. “You alright?” 

I forced a nod. “Yeah. Just tired.” 

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. “Alright. I’ll be back later this evening.” 

I offered him a small smile. “Good luck with the meeting.” 

He chuckled. “Thanks. I think I’ll need it.” 

With that, he turned and stepped out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall. A moment later, I heard the front door shut and the lock click, then— nothing.

Completely alone.

I let out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders.

For now, I would bury this secret. For now, I would pretend that everything was fine.

Though… My mind said as my eyes drifted towards my closet, where a certain locket sat. There is one more thing I can do before resting…

I nodded slowly. I had ignored that damnable thing for long enough.

“Kreacher.” I called, my voice raspier than I intended. The House Elf appeared with a sharp crack, his bat-like ears twitching as he bowed low.

“Master Adam calls for Kreacher?” His voice carried its usual grumble, but there was something softer beneath it now— a lingering respect, perhaps, after all we had been through.

“Yes.” I said, steadying myself. “Go to my closet and bring me Regulus’ necklace, please.”

Kreacher’s posture stiffened. His eyes flickered with hesitation, but he obeyed without a word. With a snap of his fingers, the door to my closet opened, and the locket flew to him. He cupped it carefully in his wrinkled hands, holding it with a reverence that made my chest tighten.

“Master Adam.” He said slowly, eyes darting up to meet mine. “Why do you wish for the locket?”

I reached out and took it, the cold metal searing against my palm like a living thing. A part of me wanted to reassure him, to tell him that this was for the best. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“Because it’s time for me to make good on the promise I made you, my friend.” I said, more to myself than to him.

Kreacher hesitated again, his lips parting as if he wanted to argue. But something in my expression must have stopped him, because he only bowed once more.

“…As Master Adam wishes.” And with that, he disappeared, leaving me alone with the weight of history in my hands.

I stared down at the locket, my breath shallow. Slytherin’s mark gleamed in the dim light, an echo of a past long before Voldemort had twisted it into something dark. I had altered the timeline in so many ways— some intentional, some not. But this? This was something I had always intended to do.

I turned the locket over, running my thumb along the aged metal. A soul fragment lurked within, something foul and unnatural. My stomach twisted at the thought of what it truly was.

I was exhausted. Every fiber of my being screamed for rest. But I had one more task before I could allow myself that luxury.

I tightened my grip on the locket and prepared to cast the spell.

I moved toward my desk, brushing aside scattered notes and half-empty vials to clear a space for what was to come. The locket felt heavier in my grip, as if it knew what I intended. A slow, pulsing wrongness emanated from within, pressing against my senses like a dull headache.

I exhaled and set it down in the center of the desk, withdrawing my wand. The exhaustion clawed at me, whispering that I should wait, that I wasn’t in the right state for this. But I knew myself— I would never feel ready, never feel rested enough. If I stopped now, I’d find another excuse to put it off.

I swallowed hard and rubbed my fingers together to stop their shaking.

A quiet voice in the back of my mind whispered doubts. What if I lost control? What if I was too tired to focus? I forced the thoughts down. Control wasn’t a luxury— it was a necessity.

Rolling my shoulders, I took one last deep breath and raised my wand. It was time. I exhaled slowly, steadying my grip on my wand as I leveled it at the locket. I immersed myself in the void once again, shivering at the sensation of the all-consuming power.

No hesitation. No fear.

“Praetexo.” I murmured the incantation under my breath, and the air in the room seemed to thicken, growing heavy with unnatural energy. The moment my spell struck the locket, the void responded.

Dark tendrils of magic slithered outward, coiling hungrily around the metal like starving serpents. The locket trembled, reacting violently to the encroaching void. A soundless scream pressed against my mind, a spectral wail that sent ice down my spine. The Horcrux was fighting back.

The room dimmed as a miasma of black and white energy erupted from the locket, twisting and writhing like a living thing. It wrapped around my wrist, tendrils licking up my arm like fire and frost at once. My vision blurred, the edges of the world distorting.

Then, the voices started.

“No… no… I am Lord Voldemort! I cannot— “

A pulse of force hit me square in the chest, nearly knocking me off my feet. My vision wavered as glimpses of another time, another place, flickered behind my eyes— blood-slick stone floors, hissing serpents, a pale boy with burning eyes. The locket was resisting, clinging desperately to its existence.

I gritted my teeth and pressed harder, pouring my will into the spell. The void surged forward, wrapping around the soul fragment like an unrelenting tide. The screaming inside my head became incoherent, dissolving into static as the void began to devour it, piece by piece.

The locket’s surface corroded under the magic, its once-pristine silver tarnishing, the ornate Slytherin crest beginning to erode. My focus wavered for only a second, but it was enough— I felt the magic expanding beyond my control.

Focus! Stronger than him! Stronger than the void!

I pushed everything I had into keeping the void contained, forcing it to consume only what I intended. The energy roiled, fighting against my restraint, but I refused to let it win.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the struggle ceased.

The magic dissipated, the air growing still. The oppressive weight of the Horcrux was gone.

Silence.

I stumbled back, breathing hard. The locket lay motionless on the desk, its Slytherin crest nearly erased, worn down by the raw force I had unleashed. I had succeeded. But I had come so close to losing control.

Too close.

I stared at the locket, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The silence in the room felt unnatural, pressing in on my ears after the chaotic storm of magic. My hands trembled, my fingers still tingling from the raw energy I had wielded.

The once-pristine surface of the locket was irrevocably altered. The magic had stripped away the polished silver sheen, leaving the metal blackened and rough. Where the proud Slytherin crest had once been embossed, only faint, jagged etchings remained. I hadn’t meant to damage it that much. I had tried to contain the void’s hunger, to focus it solely on the soul fragment inside— but I had underestimated its nature. It devoured without discrimination.

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. Had I destroyed something important? Something beyond just the Horcrux? The locket had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself, a relic of history. And now… now it was just a husk.

No. No… Voldemort was to blame for this; he’s the one who defiled it, in the first place.

I felt unsteady on my feet. The spell had drained me more than I expected, my limbs weighed down with fatigue. My body ached from the magical strain, but it was the mental exhaustion that hit me hardest. I had felt the Horcrux resist, had heard the remnants of Voldemort’s soul screaming in defiance as it was torn apart.

Would he feel it? Would he know?

A shiver crawled down my spine. I had changed so much already, warped events and rewritten fates. Would this ripple further than I had anticipated?

I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to ground myself. I had done what needed to be done. The soul fragment was gone. The locket was nothing more than a piece of empty metal now, its dark influence severed.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had crossed a line. That I had taken another step toward something irreversible.

My vision blurred at the edges, exhaustion washing over me like a tidal wave. My knees buckled, and I barely managed to catch myself against the desk. No, I needed to rest. I couldn’t afford to keep pushing myself.

Still, there was one thing left to do.

I turned the ruined locket over in my hands one last time, tracing the eroded remnants of the crest. It felt… empty now. No whisper of malice, no lingering presence pressing against my mind. Just a broken piece of metal. Whatever soul fragment had once festered inside was gone, consumed entirely.

I called for Kreacher again, who had been watching the whole thing.

“It’s done.” I said, holding it out to him. “It’s… just a locket now.”

Kreacher reached for it with trembling fingers, cupping it as if it were the most precious artifact in the world. His sharp eyes scanned every inch of it, his breath hitching slightly. I wasn’t sure if it was in reverence for what it had been, or for what had been done to it.

“Master has… freed it?” he asked hesitantly, his voice almost a whisper. “No more taint? No more… filth inside?”

I nodded. “It’s just metal now. I’m sorry I couldn’t preserve it for you.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then, without warning, he dropped to all fours, pressing his forehead to the wooden floor.

“Kreacher will follow Master Adam into hell and back! Kreacher will serve, Kreacher will— “

“Okay, that’s— alright, that’s enough.” I interrupted quickly, taking a step back, hands raised. “You really don’t have to— “

But Kreacher remained where he was, his entire body trembling with some mixture of devotion and what I could only assume was profound relief.

I stared at him, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

What the hell was I supposed to do with that?