Changed magic

Darkness pressed in from every side, folding itself around the cloaked figure like a shroud.

Harry stood, every nerve aflame, watching the scythe gleam with an inky sheen.

It felt like the entire house had sunk beneath a midnight ocean.

Silence ruled supreme—heavy, absolute.

He could sense the Horcrux's malignant aura, thrashing wildly as Death itself turned its gaze upon the silver locket. Harry's stomach churned at the sheer enormity of it all.

Then, in a voice that seemed to reverberate from the depths of a bottomless void, the figure spoke—Death actually spoke!

"Well done, Peverell." The words brushed across Harry's ears like a cold whisper. "You have once again returned what is mine, and for that, I am grateful."

Harry was too awestruck to reply; and even if he had found his tongue, some primal, self-preserving instinct warned him against conversing casually with Death. Instead, he slowly dipped his head in silent acknowledgement, heart thudding in his chest.

The dreadful cloak shifted in a motion that resembled a nod. "But summon me in your realm again," came the terrible voice, "and I will take more than what is offered."

In that instant, Harry felt something in the air change—like a tight thread snapping.

The reaper's presence receded, and the swirling gloom began to lose its crushing weight…

But Harry had no chance to feel relief. An icy jolt shot through his entire being, a stab of frigid magic that made him gasp. The next breath he took seemed to crackle in his lungs, leaving him shaking and hollow.

'Does my magic feel cold?' The thought flickered through his mind with a mix of dread and fascination.

There was no denying it—something inside him had changed.

Whatever the consequences of that might be, he didn't know and feared them.

Gradually, the shadows lifted, and the flickering remains of candlelight returned, leaving the tarnished locket lying still at the centre of the carved symbol.

Its crystal was fractured now and there was no trace of life behind its dull sheen.

Only then did Harry realise that Sirius lay sprawled behind him, unmoving. Instantly, he dropped to his knees at his godfather's side.

"Sirius… come on," Harry urged, pressing trembling fingers to Sirius' neck. He was breathing—shallow but steady.

"Enervate," Harry muttered, wand aimed at Sirius' chest.

A faint pulse of magic rippled into him.

After an agonising second, Sirius stirred, eyelids fluttering.

He groaned and slowly pushed himself upright, though his movements were shaky.

"That coldness…" he rasped, voice rough as though he'd been screaming. "It felt as if I was back in Azkaban—surrounded by a swarm of Dementors."

His eyes, hollow with lingering horror, stared at the floor. "It wasn't just that, though. It was… different. Potent. Raw. Whatever you did, Harry, it felt worse than Dementors."

Harry winced at the haunted note in Sirius' voice.

Guilt flared in his chest.

He wanted to say something comforting—anything—but the words refused to come. Instead, he slid an arm under Sirius' shoulders to help him sit up properly.

Sirius shot the locket on the floor a quick, fearful glance before turning back to Harry.

He swallowed hard. "When did you learn about these kinds of rituals?" he demanded, trying and failing to disguise the tremor in his tone.

His gaze dropped to the triangular carving on the floor. "And… bloody hell, you drew Grindelwald's symbol."

Harry almost laughed at how small and inadequate the battered shape in the floor looked now, scorched with a few drops of his own blood.

The Deathly Hallows.

A mark that carried centuries of legend—and dark infamy after Grindelwald's twisted adoption of it.

But it was no mundane symbol…

"It's not his symbol," Harry murmured tiredly with a hoarse voice. "Let's say that it's… old magic and leave it at that. It's more complicated than I can explain right now." He rubbed his eyes, trying to banish the lingering chill that had sunk into his bones.

Slowly, Sirius dragged himself to his feet, leaning against the crooked cupboard.

Kreacher, still unconscious, lay in a small heap by the door, his scrawny chest rising and falling in shallow jerks.

Harry felt a brief pang of worry for the elf. "I didn't mean to hurt him," he muttered, stepping closer to check Kreacher's pulse.

Sirius nodded wearily. "I know. You probably saved his life." He eyed the broken Horcrux on the floor, shards of crystal shimmering in the dust. "You saved us both."

Something in Sirius' voice made Harry look up.

There was gratitude, certainly, but also fear.

Unsettled by that look, Harry gently picked up the locket with two fingers.

Its once-dark aura felt inert now, lifeless metal no more threatening than any other piece of old jewellery. Yet his newly slightly ice-laced magic churned at the contact, leaving an odd tingle in his fingertips.

Harry frowned.

'Were there two soul fragments inside it? It didn't feel like that… Was it something akin to a portrait's imprint?'

"Anyway, it's gone now."

He cleared his throat as he lowered the locket into a conjured box.

Sirius reached out, albeit hesitantly, and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry. Talk to me. What was that ritual? Where—when—how?"

Harry knew he owed Sirius an explanation, but after being in Death's presence, he felt close to collapse.

Still, he forced himself to answer, if only partially. "I learned a bit about all kinds of magic this year," he said, voice subdued.

At Sirius's impatient look, Harry continued with steel in his voice. "Look. My name came out of the damned goblet and I felt more alone than ever. Luckily for me, I found a great teacher who offered to help me survive the thing. I was desperate enough to try anything and even dabbled in magic that some would consider... questionable. And it was worth it—I survived, and learned more than I ever thought possible."

Sirius let out a long breath, raking a hand through his messy hair. He looked older than his years just then, the lines of past torments etched deeply across his face.

It was obvious to him that Harry wasn't ready to spill his secrets, and he knew that by pushing him, he'd only make the situation worse; that's what always happened with Walburga…

"Well," Sirius said at last, "I'm not an idiot and I can understand the need to learn questionable magic. What matters is that you are safe and sound." He paused, glancing at the carved Hallows symbol. "But for the future… try being considerate." He swallowed. "Please*.*"

Harry allowed himself a tired smirk. "Sure, Padfoot."

"Kreacher," Sirius said softly, nudging the elf with his foot. Kreacher stirred, groaning in a low, pained voice. "He's waking. We should get him somewhere to rest."

Harry nodded, conjuring a soft blanket to drape over the elf. As he bent down, he cast a quick diagnostic charm.

Kreacher's vitals were stable, though he was badly shaken by the Horcrux's backlash.

'Probably because he was right next to it.'

Bracing himself, Harry rose. "We'll talk more. Just—give some time to process all this."

"Of course," Sirius said, swallowing visibly. "I'm sorry, pup. It's just… I've never felt anything like that in my life." H

e shuddered, drawing his robe tighter around himself, as though trying to block out a chilling wind that was no longer blowing. "Not even Azkaban was that bad."

Harry's heart twisted in sympathy.

Eventually, Harry turned on his heel, carefully stepping away from the triangle now scorched into the floorboards. "Let's get out of here. We'll settle Kreacher, then… figure out how to proceed."

They exchanged a bleak look, then, with Kreacher slumped gently in Harry's arms, they turned and left the study behind.

Before the door swung shut with a final click, Harry cast one last glance at the broken locket.

'You have once again returned what is mine… But summon me in your realm again…'

Drawing a breath, he left the old study in darkness.

The hallway's stale air felt like the sweetest breeze compared to the malevolent gloom they had endured.

And yet, there was no banishing the thought that hovered in Harry's mind.

Something fundamental had changed inside him, and he knew that he wouldn't return to Hogwarts the same.

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Chapter 85: Adorable and Presentable

Chapter 86: At least his name isn't Draco

...

Chapter 93: Lovers' Quarrel