Betrayal of the Black

sixty-six

HARRY POTTER WAS IN THE SEVENTH place Celestia checked. She was surprised to find him alone, though she was immensely grateful for it. It meant less work for her.

She stood in the doorway of Dumbledore's office, covered in blood again, as she observed the boy. It had not been an easy trip to get here; she had killed every Death Eater she had passed. Harry was on all fours—panting heavily, sweat beading his brow, and shaking. He was completely vulnerable.

Still, she did not kill him on sight.

It took him a moment, but he finally sensed her presence and looked up at her. He didn't look shocked or angry or any of the other emotions she had expected from him. He just looked resigned.

It was that reaction that told her what had made him so rattled.

He had discovered that he was a horcrux, and that if he wanted to save the Wizarding World, then he had to die.

"Black," he greeted, voice raspy.

She stepped into the office. "Potter."

"Snape's dead." The only sign of her surprise was the miniscule widening of her eyes and the tightening of her mouth. "You-Know-Who believed that, as your teacher, Snape would've taken Dumbledore's wand from you after you murdered him. He'll be calling for you any minute."

"I'm aware," she said in response to his final statement.

He coughed as he sat up, moving to sit in a near-kneeling position. For the first time since she entered the room, she got a proper look at him. His face had accepted his death—but she could see in the shake of his hands and in the set of his shoulder that that was not true. She walked further into the room as he began to speak again.

"Yet you are here," said Harry.

"That I am." She shocked Harry when she made it halfway into the room, stopped, and kneeled as well. She rested back against her calves, just like him. "Let's talk."

Using the back of his hand, he wiped away some residual sweat on his forehead. His face twisted in annoyance. Perhaps she was the only one who could draw annoyance out of him when he was faced with the reality of death. "I don't think we really have time for a chat."

"All the more reason to hurry up and start chatting now," she retorted.

He rolled his eyes. "Alright. What?"

It took everything in her not to roll her eyes back. "You're one of the Dark Lord's horcruxes."

Her reward for not rolling her eyes was the shock that took over Harry's body. "How do you know that?" he accused. "Even he doesn't know himself."

"Well, I'm a genius, obviously."

"Honest to God, I don't think anything has ever annoyed me the way talking to you does." He finally sat down properly, as if settling into his surroundings—as if accepting their conversation, despite his words. "I presume you're not going to tell me why you're really here, either."

"I have a question for you."

He shook his hand at her, looking around the room. "Go ahead and ask, then."

The careless shake of his hand and tone of his voice miffed her. Annoying as it was, he never gave into a request of hers. Though, truth be told, Celestia isn't too sure if she had ever asked something of him. She doubted she had ever wanted to lower herself to such a position.

"What makes us so different?"

He finally gave her his full attention again. "What?"

"What makes you so different from me?"