Harry finished writing the letter with a great rush and stared for a long moment at the blotted letters on the page, then shook his head. Yes, it was what he wanted to say to her, but he really couldn't send this letter, because he couldn't tell her about the Horcruxes and he didn't want to tell her the details of his sessions with Healer Letham.
But he had said it, and part of him was relieved.
Ron's letter was easier.
Dear Ron,
I'm sorry for snapping at Hermione the way I did, and then telling you that I didn't want to see you for the rest of the summer. I think I was more angry at her and then I started yelling at the both of you.
But I didn't get kidnapped by my own family, and I need her to stop acting like I did. And maybe we need to talk by ourselves, because if you're going to get angry at me because I'm angry at Hermione, then we won't be able to talk about what really matters.
Do you actually trust Dumbledore? Do you just say that you do because your family does? Or because Hermione does? Because I don't. Whatever is really important could be something he said to me in a letter. Or he could send a Patronus! Tonks said that they could be used as messengers, and I know he has a Patronus, and I bet he knows how to do that. I don't think a Patronus can even be intercepted, so he wouldn't have to worry about it being dangerous or unsafe.
I really need you lot, but I can't tell you everything. I think that's going to drive Hermione mental. I hope it won't. I hope I won't lose you. But I'm going to have to keep secrets for a little while, at least. Can you accept that? I hope so.
Harry put down the quill and considered the letters for a moment. Then he drew his wand and lit them on fire.
Part of him wanted to keep them, but the last thing he needed was some "helpful" house-elf finding them and sending them off to his friends. Dobby might, if he found them in Harry's desk when he was cleaning.
And in the end, what mattered was that he had said it, to parchment anyway, and now he could step back and consider his next move.
"You're sure?" Lucius asked quietly.
Narcissa nodded and leaned back in her seat on the other side of the fire. "Quite. I tracked all the transactions in Bellatrix's vault over the years, and there's only one that could be a Horcrux."
Lucius reached out and held her hand for a moment. His own trembled with eagerness. Narcissa smiled at him, and for a moment, her eyes shone like a hunting leopard's.
Lucius had been the one who had decided that they ought to consult Bellatrix's vault for possible Horcruxes. Bellatrix had filed a will that said Narcissa should have her vault if she died, and the goblins were prone to using such documents as stand-ins for those who were imprisoned in Azkaban, as well. As long as Narcissa didn't try to take money from the vault, she would receive the notices of any deposits and any claims on it, and a detailed list accounting for both money and artifacts.
And artifacts were exempted from the rules concerning coins.
"A golden cup, double-handled, with an image of a badger on the side," Lucius whispered.
Narcissa smiled at him. "Yes. It is probably an artifact of Hufflepuff's. The living Horcruxes would be different from the usual run of them, of course, and the one in Henry was accidental. And the diary was probably a childhood treasure. But otherwise, what did the Dark Lord think worthy of him, but the greatest and most priceless treasurers?"
Lucius snorted. "Then perhaps we should be looking for the diadem of Ravenclaw."
Narcissa didn't smile. "We might need to."
Lucius shuddered, and for a moment, they sat in silence. Lucius contemplated the length of the quest they might need to undertake if Ravenclaw's diadem, so long lost, was one of the Horcruxes.
Then he hardened his heart. He would do much worse than that for Henry. And he would continue, as well, to read Healing research, to look out for ways to remove the Horcrux from his son.
Henry would not die. He would be not merely the Boy-Who-Lived, but the boy who continued to live, and continued, until he died of old age in the fullness of time.
Lucius would accept nothing less.
....
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