“Petra,” he said simply, “has made a Horcrux.”
There was stony silence in the room as everyone seemed to absorb this in their own way. Scorpius studied James sharply, his eyes narrowed tensely. Ralph looked both bewildered and horrified. Lily covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes shocked wide. Albus, however, merely stared into the shadows, his face thoughtful but unfazed.
“Are you certain?” Rose asked breathlessly. “How could you know that? Last we spoke…?”
“I hadn’t even seen her,” James nodded, unable to meet his cousin’s gaze. “She was locking me out. But that’s all changed. I don’t think she can keep it up. I think the harder she freezes me out, the harder the Thread tries to connect us.” As briefly as he could, he explained his experience with the dream, traveling to Petra and observing her, actually standing in the same room with her, transported purely by magic.
“But Horcruxes are seriously specialized dark magic,” Lily said, her voice nearly a whisper. “I heard Dad talking to Uncle Ron about it once, and they both agreed that no one had created one ever since Voldemort’s time. Uncle Ron said that no one alive probably even remembered how it was done anymore. How can you be certain that Petra…?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.
“I’m certain,” James nodded dourly. “There was no mistaking the meaning of the incantation. And once Petra saw me, the look on her face made it clear. She was ashamed of what she had done. But…” He didn’t want to say it, but even now in his memory he could see her eyes.
There had been shame and sadness there, yes. But beneath that, almost buried in the depth of her surprised gaze, there had been defiance.
Ralph asked, “But, why would she do it?”
“Well that, at least, is obvious,” Scorpius said, giving the table a sharp rap with his knuckles. “She needs to survive long enough to replace the Crimson Thread in the destiny that the now-dead Morgan came from. With every Auror, Harrier, and vengeful git with a wand out looking to cut her down, she needs assurance that she won’t be killed before she can complete her task and save the universe.”
“But a Horcrux,” Lily said, dropping her eyes gloomily. “Ever since Voldemort, people know dark magic like that stains a person’s soul, makes it twisted and broken. Can her goodness survive those effects long enough to finish her plan?”
“You forget,” Albus said suddenly, glancing from face to face.
“Petra was born with ‘twisted and broken’ already in her. The last bit of Voldemort himself survives in her blood. She can call on his dark strength to make the Horcrux. And she can transfer the poison of that dark magic to him. The last shred of Voldemort is sort of like a magical tapeworm, sucking up all the toxic effects and giving back strength and resolve.”
“Eww,” Lily grimaced and shuddered.
“And what makes you such an expert in these things all of a sudden?” James couldn’t help asking, sitting up in his seat to glare at his brother.
Albus shrugged, refusing to make eye contact. “Stands to reason, is all.” He flopped back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“Well there’re really only two things we can do,” Rose said after a long, meaningful pause. “First of all, James, you must use your dreaming connection to Petra to watch her as closely as possible.”
“I will if I can,” James nodded. “I don’t think I have a lot of say about it, either way. Petra, neither, no matter how hard she tries. But why?”
Scorpius answered, “Because little Albus might be wrong about Morganstern’s ability to stay pure as the wind-driven snow while tapping into the mouldy-Voldy bloodline. The tapeworm, as he calls it, may grow fat enough to take her over completely. If that happens, she won’t care about finishing her mission. She’ll become the enemy that the magical world already believes she is.”
James wanted to argue. He wanted to point out that Petra, being a sorceress, was stronger than Voldemort had ever hoped to be.
The guttering shred of that villain caged in her soul was a mere flickering candle compared to her roaring bonfire.
But he remembered that look in her eyes, underneath the shame and sadness—that buried, ironclad spike of defiance. You won’t understand why I must do this, James, the look said. You can’t understand.
And I don’t blame you. But please, don’t dare try to stop me. I won’t allow even you to stand in my way…
“What’s the second thing we have to do?” Ralph asked, turning to Rose.
Rose sighed deeply, resolutely. “We have to help Petra,” she answered with a slow nod. “Any way we can. We have to assist her in completing her mission to take the place of the Crimson Thread.
Because Scorpius is right. If Petra is tapping into the power of the Bloodline of Voldemort, that shred of ghost won’t be content to merely help her. It will seek to rule her. It will persuade her to give in more and more. If it succeeds, Petra may well lose the will to complete her task. She may truly become the She-Voldemort.”
James shook his head firmly. “That’s crazy,” he insisted. “Petra isn’t like him—”
“James,” Lily said, her quiet voice interrupting him more effectively than a shout. “The worst thing Voldemort ever did was kill and create Horcruxes. Petra is the only other person who’s done the same thing. I don’t like it any more than you. But the fact is, she is already more like Voldemort than any other living person. She isn’t thwarting the Bloodline anymore. She’s using it.”
“We have to help her replace the Crimson Thread in that other dimension,” Rose finished, watching James’ face intently, “before she changes her mind about doing it at all.”
James didn’t agree with Rose. But he didn’t argue.
Resolved, if unhappy, the troupe began to stand. There were no sounds other than the scrape of chairs on the stone floor and the creak of the door as it opened.
They were halfway down the hall before Albus suddenly piped up.
“I almost forgot why I was looking for you in the first place,” he glanced aside at Ralph, James, and Rose. “Debellows said your first duty as ‘junior Aurors in training’ has come up.”
“But, it’s Saturday,” Ralph protested, slumping. “This is supposed to be a replacement for class time, not weekends.”
“Hush, Ralph,” Rose said, shouldering the big boy aside.
“What’s Debellows want us to do?”
“Search me,” Albus shrugged. “He just said to meet him outside the headmaster’s office at four this afternoon.”
Rose stopped in her tracks, her eyes going wide. “And you just now remembered to tell us!? You do know that it’s…” She consulted her watch frantically, and then nearly shouted, “five past four already!”
Albus shrugged again. “I’m a messenger, not your bloody secretary.”