Chapter 106: Chapter 106: The Dead Man’s Moves – Part 3

Sirius stared at Kreacher in bewilderment. “Narcissa? Here? Are you certain?” He should be a dead man. Why would his cousin, of all people, come calling? How did she know he was still alive?

“Show her in,” he said finally, curiosity overcoming caution. Within Grimmauld Place’s ancient wards, he was safer than anywhere else in Britain. She could do nothing to him here.

Narcissa swept into the drawing room with practiced elegance, though closer inspection revealed shadows under her eyes and tension in her bearing. She showed no surprise at seeing her supposedly dead cousin.

“Cissy,” Sirius drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. “To what do I owe the displeasure? I thought you’d be celebrating.”

“I was, for a time,” she replied, her voice as crisp as frozen silk. “I thought my dear sister had finally freed you from this miserable life. But recent developments led me to believe you were still… lingering.”

“Oh? And what developments were those?”

“Your will,” she stated simply. “It has not been executed. Were you truly dead, the line of succession would have been activated.”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “Of course. Checking to see if your precious Draco could become the next Lord Black. Unfortunately for you, I plan to live a very long life.”

“A temporary reprieve.” Her lips thinned. “Your recklessness is legendary. Sooner or later, you’ll manage to get yourself properly killed.”

“Even if I did, your son would never inherit.” Sirius’s grin turned sharp. “Or did you forget about my godson?”

Narcissa’s carefully maintained mask cracked slightly. “Potter? But he’s—”

“And a Black, through his great-grandmother Dorea. Add to that the fact that he is my chosen heir, and his claim obliterates Draco’s. The family magic would never accept your son over him.”

The disappointment on her face was clear, though she quickly masked it. “It matters little. From what Draco tells me, the Potter boy shares your reckless streak. Who is to say he will outlive this war?”

“He’ll make it,” Sirius said, his voice hardening. “I’ll make sure of it. I’m not so certain about your son, however. When is he taking the Mark? Following in daddy’s footsteps?” He leaned forward. “I hear the new Minister allows the use of lethal force against Death Eaters. One stray curse on his first mission… what a tragedy that would be.”

Narcissa went pale. The barb struck a nerve, and for the first time, her polished facade cracked. It also confirmed his suspicions. This wasn’t about inheritance—not really.

“Why are you here, Cissy?” His tone gentled fractionally. “Not to check my pulse or plan property acquisition.”

She hesitated, her pride warring with a deeper fear. “I need your help, cousin.”

Sirius stared at her, then threw his head back and laughed. “Did I hear that correctly? You, Narcissa Malfoy née Black, need the help of a ’blood-traitor’? This is priceless! What is it? Want me to help spring Lucius from Azkaban? Sorry, I’d rather watch him rot, just like I did.”

“No!” The word was a desperate gasp. “It is not for Lucius. I want you to save my son.”

The genuine terror in her voice stopped Sirius. Despite everything—their family’s divide, the bitter rivalry between Harry and Draco—Draco was still a Black. And the Blacks, for all their faults, protected their own.

The memory of Regulus was still fresh in Sirius’s mind. Regulus, who had died trying to make things right. Maybe this was a chance to give someone like his little brother the chance he never had.

He exhaled slowly. “I’m listening.”

“The Dark Lord… he has given Draco a task,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “An impossible task. It is a punishment for Lucius’s failures. A death sentence.”

Sirius leaned forward, a grim joke on his lips. “Define impossible. What’s he supposed to do, kill Dumbledore?”

The fact that she didn’t laugh, that she simply stared at him with wide, terrified eyes, was all the answer he needed. The humor vanished from his face. “Merlin’s beard. He actually wants your son to kill Dumbledore? What did Lucius do to warrant that level of revenge?”

“He won’t say. Only that his mistake cost the Dark Lord dearly.” Narcissa’s composure finally cracked, her voice trembling. “Now Draco must pay the price. He’ll die trying… or the Dark Lord will kill him for failing.”

She looked at Sirius, desperation naked in her eyes. “Please. Is there a way to get him out? To hide him somewhere-anywhere-far away?”

Sirius’s expression hardened. “What’s your plan if I refuse?” he asked, testing her resolve.

“I’ve spoken with Severus,” she admitted, reluctantly.

His first instinct was fury—Snivellus, the greasy traitor, the Death Eater. But he didn’t explode. Instead, something colder and sharper clicked inside him. The unused gears of his mind began to turn with frightening speed.

Snape wasn’t good—not in any way Sirius would call it—but he did hate Voldemort. That much, Sirius was sure of.

He thought of Dumbledore’s withered hand, the dark curse he couldn’t stop. Dumbledore is dying and he knows it.

A plan unfolded in Sirius’s mind, grim and brilliant. The old man would use his death like a chessmaster—sacrificing himself to save Draco’s soul, to anchor Snape deeper into Voldemort’s inner circle.

The pieces clicked together with horrifying clarity.

“With Snivellus involved, your problem is already solved,” Sirius said dismissively. “Dumbledore trusts him. Just have Snape slip him some poison, and the mission is complete.”

“No.” Narcissa shook her head. “The Dark Lord was clear. Draco must be the one to kill Dumbledore.”

Sirius studied her. “So what do you want from me?”

“Take him away,” she whispered. “Hide him abroad. Somewhere the Dark Lord can’t find him.”

Sirius’s voice dropped low. “Has he taken the Mark?”

She hesitated. Then, almost inaudibly, “Yes.”

“Then there’s nothing I can do,” he said flatly. “Voldemort can track all his followers through the Mark. There’s no hiding from him.”

Narcissa crumpled, as if the last thread of hope had been snipped away.

But Sirius wasn’t finished. “There is another way,” he said, voice now cold and deliberate. “You can help me kill Voldemort. Then your son will be safe.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s impossible. The Dark Lord is… undefeatable.”

“Is he?” Sirius’s smile was predatory. “I heard he and his army fled from a single eighteen-year-old recently. Doesn’t sound very very strong to me.”

“I heard about him from Bella,” she conceded. “That boy… you know him?”

“He’s the one who saved my life,” Sirius admitted. “But he won’t solve our problems for us. He has no stake in our world.”

“Then what can we do?” Narcissa asked, desperate.

“Before we continue, I need a vow,” Sirius stated. “A Secrecy Vow. What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room.”

Desperation overrode caution. She drew her wand, speaking the binding words without hesitation.

“Good. Now—want to know what Lucius’s great failure was?”

She nodded tightly.

“Remember any diary Voldemort gave him? Old, black leather?”

Narcissa’s eyes widened. “Yes. Lucius was told to guard it with his life.”

“That diary was a Horcrux.”

The word struck her like a physical blow. “He made those abominations? That’s how he claims immortality?”

“Among other things. Your brilliant husband, for reasons I still don’t understand, used it to open the Chamber of Secrets. Nearly got several students killed, including your son.” Sirius’s smile held no humor. “My godson destroyed it. Twelve years old, basilisk venom, straight through Voldemort’s soul fragment.”

“Draco’s stories were true?” She sounded faint. “The petrifications, the chamber—I thought they were his usual exaggerations…”

“Every word. Harry killed a thousand year old basilisk with a sword. What’s Draco’s greatest achievement? Perfect scores in Potions?”

Her silence spoke volumes.

“I suppose that’s what Voldemort’s so angry about,” Sirius continued. “Lucius’s blunder led to the destruction of a piece of his soul. He’s got every reason to be furious.”

“So,” Narcissa said slowly, her voice regaining strength, “what help do you need from me? The Horcrux is destroyed, isn’t it? That makes him mortal now, right?”

Sirius shook his head. “No. That monster didn’t stop at one. He made several.”

Her breath caught. “What kind of monster have Lucius and I sworn allegiance to? How many? Do you have any leads on where the others are?”

“At least three,” Sirius said. “Reggy—Regulus—destroyed one before he was killed.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that why he disappeared?”

Sirius nodded, jaw tight. “Yes. And if I piece everything together… it makes sense that another Horcrux might be with Bellatrix. You had one. Regulus had one. Bella’s the closest to Voldemort. She would’ve been a natural choice.”

“And you want me to get it from her?” Narcissa asked slowly.

“Yes,” Sirius said. “Can you find out if she has it? And if so, can you get it to me?”

Narcissa was silent for a moment. Then, with unexpected calm, she said, “If you had asked me this a few weeks ago, I’d have told you it was impossible. But things have changed.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“Ever since the Dark Lord lost to that Muggle-born,” she continued, “Bella hasn’t been the same. She’s… lost faith. She doesn’t worship him blindly anymore. I can try asking her about the Horcrux. Even in our darkest studies, we were taught that Horcruxes were abominations. She may hate them as much as we do.”

Sirius nodded. “Good. If we destroy that one, we’ll be down to three. Maybe two—Dumbledore has likely destroyed another. I think Voldemort made six, to split his soul seven ways. One of them, I’m certain, is his snake.”

Narcissa exhaled. “So when they’re all gone… the Dark Lord will be mortal? Weak enough to be killed by… the Chosen One?”

Sirius frowned. “Chosen One?”

“That’s what they call your godson,” she said, voice laced with irony. “Some prophecy about him was leaked.”

Sirius gave a dry chuckle. “Figures. But I don’t care. It was always obvious Harry would be the one to finish it. You help me get that Horcrux, and I’ll make sure you and your family are protected when this is over.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “You have that kind of influence now? Have you taken the Black Lordship?”

Sirius blinked. “What? I can do that?”

“You didn’t know?” she asked, surprised. “After Arcturus Black died, I checked. You’re the rightful heir.”

“But I’m a fugitive. Dead, even, according to some records.”

“You were never convicted. Never given a trial,” she pointed out. “By law, you’re still a free man. Try wearing the ring. I believe it’s still in Gringotts.”

Sirius’s expression brightened. “That’s… actually great news. Thanks, Cissa. If I can claim the Lordship, clearing my name just got a whole lot easier. That manipulative old man should’ve known this too.”

He paused, remembering the curse slowly killing the Headmaster. “Serves him right, really.”

Narcissa tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“I won’t spoil the surprise,” Sirius said cryptically. “Let’s just say—your son’s task? It’s not as hard as it seems. Snivellus will make sure he succeeds. No need to worry.”

“You could just tell me what’s going on,” she said, clearly annoyed.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Let’s just say Dumbledore has his own plans.” He walked her to the door. “Get me the Horcrux, Narcissa.”

She left with a new, dangerous mission. And Sirius, for the first time in over a decade, prepared for a visit to Gringotts, not as a fugitive, but as a Lord ready to claim his birthright.

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