As he continued to listen to Scrimgeour make excuses, Terry found it hard to concentrate. Everything was getting farther and farther out of control. He could have dealt with Narcissa knowing. He could have. It would have been fine if they had just found Dorcas and promptly sent her to Outer Mongolia. Fine, that was a little harsh, but Dorcas was a source of chaos. But maybe, just maybe, he might have been able to deal with what had happened to Vesta if he hadn’t been confronted with everything else. Now, he had no idea how even to find a way to regain control of himself.

The conversation with Fudge had gone as he expected. Fudge had apologized for the lack of a warning. Apparently there had been some indication that the Death Eaters were planning what had happened. Fudge had never even considered the possibility that the Death Eaters would not limit their activities to British citizens. Yes, there was supposed to be an American security detail, but—God only knew why—Vesta had waived it and said Diana was enough protection. After all, the Death Eaters shouldn’t be interested in knowing where the wife of an ambassador’s aide lived. Vesta was supposed to be living with Terry. That she wasn’t was supposed to be classified. But despite all the precautions, the truth had gotten out.

Terry had been careful. He hadn’t made any real indication as to where Vesta had been living. For all anyone knew, they had been living together in the city. From what he knew now, Vesta may have been safer with him, but… It just shouldn’t have happened. They shouldn’t have been able to find her. St. Mungo’s wouldn’t have freely given out the information, even if the hospital had an accurate record of where Vesta was living, so the fault had to lie with the Ministry, because Terry knew that Ambassador Lafayette had instructed all of the Embassy staff to disclose no information about Terry.

And if the Ministry of Magic wasn’t responsible, then the fault lay only with Terry. If that were true, then he had said something during torture, and he didn’t remember it. If there weren’t gaping holes in his memory, then Terry needed to improve his occlumency. Terry did not know which choice was worse. Either he was blanking out and thus needed to be taken off the mission, or Voldemort knew everything already.

Regardless, Fudge had been sycophantic in his apology or condolences or whatever because Lafayette had sent Terry to go talk instead of going herself. Fudge was just scared he had made an enemy. The only good to come of the meeting had been that Fudge had given Terry permission to discuss the security breach with Scrimgeour. Hence why Terry was currently not paying attention to the head of the Auror department in said man’s office. Terry noted that Scrimgeour seemed to have finally caught on to his general lack of attention. However, Terry wasn’t going to give Scrimgeour the satisfaction of knowing he was right, that Terry wasn’t paying attention. Terry interrupted in a frustrated manner, “So you essentially are telling me that you have no idea how the Death Eaters knew where to find my wife?”

Scrimgeour predictably was not going to take the comment lying down and replied acidly, “Yes, Mr. White, that’s exactly what I’m saying. There was no possible way the Ministry could have provided the information, and furthermore, I doubt that there was anything that the Ministry could have done. Your own security staff couldn’t protect her, correct? So why should you have expected the Ministry to—”

“I expected the Ministry to have more sense for a wide variety of reasons, Scrimgeour,” Terry growled. “Besides, if my wife had been at the Embassy, then we wouldn’t have this problem. However, she’s been living with her sister while she’s been here.”

Scrimgeour did not look impressed. In fact, Terry was starting to think that Scrimgeour was starting to dislike him as much as he had in the past (which had nothing to do with the fact that he had been a teenaged Death Eater with an Auror brother who despised Scrimgeour, who thus had been incidentally drenched in slime on several occasions). “There’s your explanation, then, White,” Scrimgeour replied through clenched teeth. The glare was only to be expected. “It’s your and your wife’s own fault. If you hadn’t been so arrogant to think that the Death Eaters wouldn’t look for you, then your wife wouldn’t be in St. Mungo’s now, would she?”

Terry restrained himself from jumping across the table and throttling the man, as much as he wanted to do so. Darkly, he replied, “Do not presume to know my intentions. If I’d known Vesta would have been better off at the Embassy or living with me, I would have tried to talk her out of staying with her sister.” Terry was not sure how Dorcas had been able to stand this asshole for as long as she had. He continued angrily, “However, I was under the impression that she would be safer someplace not so blindingly obvious. The reason I haven’t been living with her is to make sure those bloody bastards didn’t track me back to her!”

Scrimgeour looked at Terry in disgust. Terry figured that the man had figured out what exactly Terry was in the fight against Voldemort, He had probably guessed that Terry was part of the Order and—worse, in Scrimgeour’s opinion—a double agent. That Terry had immediately made to move his left arm off the table probably hadn’t helped to alleviate Scrimgeour’s suspitions. Coldly, Scrimgeour said, “White, if any subterfuge on your part resulted in the current situation, then the blame lies squarely on you and not on the Ministry in any way, shape, or form.”

“I’m working for the bloody Ministry, you selfish bast—” Terry was cut off as Scrimgeour grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. In a detached sort of way, Terry supposed that Scrimgeour had a right to be pissed off at him and that he was in fact being rather unreasonable, but at that moment Terry honestly didn’t give a damn.

Glaring at him, Scrimgeour growled venomously, “You, White, have no right to call me selfish. I’m not the one in the Ministry wasting the Auror Department’s valuable time whining about the fact that the Death Eaters almost killed my wife.” He threw Terry back into his chair. Scrimgeour scoffed and continued less confrontationally, “I get that you’re pissed off and want revenge, White, but don’t take it out on me. In normal circumstances, I might have been inclined to help, but this is a war. The Ministry has far more important things to worry about. Get over yourself.”

Terry just looked down and off to the side. He was still angry and would have very much liked to punch Scrimgeour in the face, but it didn’t seem as if that was going to happen anytime soon. The bloody bastard was right, as much as Terry didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t have a right to come in and yell at Scrimgeour for something that was out of his jurisdiction. That said, Ministry response time was indeed shite. And Terry was trying to rationalize starting a shouting match with Scrimgeour, who would probably win once it devolved into a fistfight. There were easier ways, he knew, to start a fight and get the shit kicked out of him.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time, then,” Terry said, trying not to sound beaten. He wasn’t, after all. He wasn’t going to say it, but there was supposed to have been a guard for Vesta from the Ministry. The Department of Mysteries was supposed to have supplied it. Terry knew better than to ask them what had happened. The Department was already short on people, and if they hadn’t subcontracted it out to the Department of Law Enforcement, then there was no reason to shout at someone who hadn’t received the message. After a moment, Terry decided it would probably be intelligent to continue, “I apologize for my behavior. It was uncalled for. This wasn’t the Ministry’s fault.”

Scrimgeour had a right to be suspicious, really. Terry had just presented an emotional one-eighty. For a second there, Terry noticed Scrimgeour looked a little confused, too, but Terry clamped down on any feelings of schadenfreude. Having a smug grin on his face wouldn’t be conducive to maintaining a general dislike instead of all-out hatred. “It’s fine, White. Completely understandable. I’ve seen too many people march into this office in my day demanding answers to the same questions you asked,” Scrimgeour replied. Weighing the pros and cons, he hesitated before continuing, “I’m just glad I haven't had to answer the questions of anyone like Augusta Longbottom. No one envied the Director of the DMLE before Crouch. He once had to calm down the contemporary Director of the Department of Mysteries.”

“He’d thought his son murdered,” Terry murmured. He had heard about that. Apparently the DMLE hadn’t suffered a small nuclear explosion as a result. Terry admired the man’s restraint. Granted, Terry wouldn’t have been too angry with his best friend, either, under the circumstances. The boy had made his own choices, after all. With a grimace, he said, “I’ll show myself out, Scrimgeour,” and made to leave.

Scrimgeour grabbed him by the left wrist and apparently didn’t notice Terry’s flinch. “Stop. I’ll call someone to escort you,” he ordered. Terry let himself grin wryly. Well, apparently Scrimgeour still trusted him about as far as he could throw him. As an explanation, Scrimgeour continued, not without humor, “Don’t need you shouting at the DoM. Merlin knows they’d blow something up in their surprise.”

Terry laughed lightly at that and stayed where he was. He would wait, even though he probably would end up asking the entire department to help him find Dorcas. God only knew where she was. He wouldn’t put it past her to be snorkeling in the fountain at the entrance to the Ministry. “I’m not going to invade the DoM—I’m not that stupid—but I’ll follow the guard.”

Scrimgeour wrote the note and sent the paper airplane off. It seemed that Scrimgeour had something he wanted to say but might have been waiting for Terry to say it. That could only mean one thing. He knew Dorcas was around. However, a returning airplane arrived promptly, and Scrimgeour moved to show Terry out. “I’m glad we came to an understanding,” Scrimgeour said, carefully selecting his words.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make a better first impression,” Terry replied, not completely disliking the other man anymore. It was clear now that while Scrimgeour could be a complete asshole—and Terry completely expected him to go back to being one once he left the office—the man was just trying to do his job and do it well. Terry was still confused as to how the man had drawn the conclusion that Sirius was the one that had murdered him, though. Well, what was past was past.

Scrimgeour opened the door to his office and was met with a six-foot something blonde blur that shouted, “Rufie!” at the top of its lungs. Apparently Scrimgeour’s reaction time was faster than Sirius’s, because he sidestepped enough to cause Dorcas to just swing around him before he overbalanced and fell on his face in the doorway. Terry estimated that most of the Auror department was watching the scene develop. He also guessed that the Auror standing gobsmacked in between Tonks and the door was the Auror who was supposed to show him out.

Terry considered escaping into the ether without Dorcas, but he knew it would have been impolite just to leave her there to torment Scrimgeour. Well, he had no doubt in his mind that Sirius would have approved, but Terry wasn’t too keen on making an enemy of Scrimgeour now. “I can hardly believe the number of times I’ve apologized to you today, Mr. Scrimgeour, but I feel I should apologize for my colleague, Ms. Meadowes,” Terry began, wincing as Scrimgeour tried to escape from Dorcas’s clutches and failed miserably. The rest of the Aurors were standing around, looking vaguely sheepish, and wondering if they should assist their boss. The consensus seemed to be no. Although he knew it was unwise to continue, Terry mentioned regardless, “On the bright side, sir, she seems to value you as a friend as much as she does Mr. Black. He was by no means quick enough to evade her, either.”

Scrimgeour made an irritated noise but was finally able to disconnect Dorcas from himself as she promptly sat down next to him, looking particularly proud of herself, too. Terry really wondered sometimes where Dorcas found all the energy before he remembered he had left her with Tonks, who would have undoubtedly taken her to the cafeteria. There was one problem solved. “I’m glad to hear she values my ‘friendship’ on the same level as she values Black’s,” Scrimgeour grunted as he stood up and brushed himself off. “I take it then you brought her with you?” he continued, looking down at Dorcas as if she were some kind of carnivorous mold.

“She wanted to see some old friends, and I wasn’t going to let her set fire to my flat,” Terry replied nonchalantly, as if this sort of thing happened every day. Turning to Dorcas, who had a crazy grin on her face and seemed to be contemplating behaving like a carnivorous mold, Terry said, “Come on, Meadowes. I think it’s time we were shown the way out.”

“But, Terry! I haven’t blown something up in the DoM yet!” Dorcas complained, immediately standing up and pouting. It was all an act, if Terry knew her at all. He damn well knew she was disappointed because she hadn’t been able to find Moody and pester him, but Terry didn’t think the Ministry would be willing to let her know. Besides, was it really that long to wait for the next Order of the Phoenix meeting? Because Terry looked suitably frustrated with her, Dorcas relented, “Fine. I guess I’ll just have to catch up with Rufie later.” With a grin, she chirped, “See you later, Rufie!” and skipped off, hopefully in the direction of the main lobby.

When everyone turned to look at Terry, he just shrugged. There wasn’t really much else he could do. Terry then said a final formal goodbye to Scrimgeour before being escorted out of the DMLE and back to the Atrium. After the Auror left, Terry sighed and scanned the large room for Dorcas, who should have returned before him. When she failed to present herself after five minutes, Terry turned around to go to the reception desk and hope they could find Dorcas. However, she then presented herself. Terry stepped out of the way quickly enough to avoid being tackled to the ground.

Dorcas jumped back up and declared, “Oh, you’re no fun.” Terry restrained himself from hitting his head against the nearest wall. Repeatedly. It wouldn’t make him feel any better, but he might have been able to concuss himself and be spared more nonsense. Thankfully, Dorcas then asked, “So, when are we going to meet up with Sirikins and talk strategy? I mean, I assume you two are going to let me in on the plan, ‘cause, you know, only sets of three tend to be able to accomplish things, and there has to be the requisite girl.”

“And, surprise, you’re willing to fulfill the requirement?” Terry asked dubiously.

“Exactly. Have to keep with the significant numbers and all,” Dorcas replied as they made their way to the phone booth exit, which was the only exit that Dorcas deemed worthy. Terry didn’t protest. He didn’t really like Floo Powder or Side-Along Apparition, either.

“Right. And why can’t this venture that you suppose is so important remain a quest that Sirius and I go on?” Terry asked, not really wanting to know but figuring it was better to go along with Dorcas’s mad ideas than contradict her.

“Because two only works under certain circumstances, and three’s a much better number. Athough I suppose we could go to four, but no farther. Five’s right out. We’d have to get at least seven after four, and then skip eight and head along right to nine,” Dorcas mused. Seeing the look on Terry’s face, she sighed exasperatedly and countered, “You know it to be true!”

Terry rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. I get the references for seven, what with you going on about westerns the last time I saw you. Nine is the square of three and is thus one of those special numbers. Three occurs frequently, but why are you making an exception for four?” he asked.

“Duh,” Dorcas said as a reply as they stepped into the phone booth to leave. Terry waited for her to continue. She unfortunately declared, “I’m totally Aramis.” As Terry slapped his forehead, Dorcas continued, “Sirius is Athos, though, what with his endless depressions. And you don’t really strike me as a Porthos, so I suppose you’re left with d’Artagnan.”

“Dorcas?” Terry asked, feeling a terrible headache coming on. Why was he stuck with Dorcas again? Oh, yes, Sirius couldn’t be bothered to do something sensible like locking her up in the Room of Requirement or Grimmauld. And, of course, Terry had been unwilling to let her run amuck in his flat. This was why he was stuck in a phone booth with Dorcas Meadowes.

Looking like the cat that caught the canary, Dorcas inquired in return, “Yes?”

“Please never speak again.”

“But we still need to find a Porthos!” Dorcas protested a bit too loudly as they exited the phone booth. Terry, for his part, just ignored her and continued to walk away, despite the stares they were receiving from the normal residents of London. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. Then again, as long as Dorcas didn’t acquire a rapier or a musketeer uniform, Terry felt he might be able to cope with her continued presence. Maybe.

Sirius looked at his watch. They were half an hour late. He had considered breaking into White’s flat and waiting there, but in the end Sirius had decided he probably shouldn’t do anything illegal. However, he also hadn’t expected White and Dorcas to be half an hour late. Sirius grimaced and continued to lean against the wall near to the door to White’s flat. His expression softened a little as he remembered how all of White’s neighbors had been looking at him suspiciously as they passed by. Sirius wondered if White was really that popular hereabouts or if curious neighbors were under the impression that White was involved in something shady. Sirius wouldn’t blame them if they did. White was, after all.

They—the three—had agreed to meet here, at White’s flat, in order to discuss the horcruxes. White and Sirius had vaguely informed Dorcas of their existence in order to end her relentless questioning the night before. Sirius didn’t doubt that White was still hesitant to bring Dorcas in on the scheme, but Sirius couldn’t see events happening any other way. It would be undeniably unfair to keep Dorcas locked up somewhere, for all parties involved. Sirius knew Dorcas wasn’t the most patient person in the universe, and if she had to be locked away while everyone else was fighting, she would probably go mad. This time, Sirius actually thought she would go crazy. Yes, everyone thought she was batshit insane, but fewer people knew the reason why she acted that way. Even Sirius wasn’t quite sure, because Dorcas absolutely refused to talk about any of it. However, he did still remember why she had been suspended around the same time he was on “medical leave” as a paper pusher in the Auror offices.

Therefore, they had to allow Dorcas to come with them. Besides, Sirius reasoned that having another good duelist was never a bad thing. It wasn’t that White seemed incompetent, because Sirius honestly would not want to get in a fight with him, but White was the brains of the operation. The more people they had between White and the Death Eaters, the better. Plus, Dorcas hadn’t been a slouch when it came to warding. She had initially planned on being a curse-breaker but decided the Aurors had a more interesting job description. That, and she could probably pull Gryffindor’s sword out of the Sorting Hat if necessary. Sirius was almost positive that Dumbledore had the sword on display in his office, but he knew it paid to have back-up plans.

There were other issues to keep in mind as well, but Sirius wasn’t sure if he wanted to consider all of it. White was probably going to be distracted the entire time they searched for these Godforsaken horcruxes. The events of the night before pretty much made that clear as day. Of course, Sirius didn’t blame him. The guy’s wife was almost murdered, and then he’s invited to have tea with Narcissa. Okay, so Narcissa’s company wasn’t horrible in and of itself, but the day just got so much better when Dorcas was dumped in their laps. When they finally managed to put Dorcas somewhere safe and unlikely to spontaneously combust, Sirius had suggested that White go visit the hospital, thereby proving that Sirius was the most intelligent person in the universe. Well, the decision had been less of an absolute train wreck than he had feared, but Sirius did have second thoughts about letting White make it back to his flat on his own. And then there was the girl.

Sirius felt like a complete failure, and White was probably going to kill him. Sirius had gone out on a limb and apparently informed the girl that White was a Death Eater. Oh, that had been brilliant, so very brilliant. Her reaction had only become worse after that, and then she had started crying for seemingly no reason. Sirius understood that she was worried about her aunt and that she was probably directing her anger and unease towards situations she could control. Her mother was probably who she was worried about the most, although the girl may have been worried equally about White, who, at least from Sirius’s point of view, seemed to be more of a surrogate father to the girl than just her mother’s cousin’s husband. Sirius couldn’t quite bring himself to acknowledge what was really bothering him.

The girl was thirteen. She was Artemesia’s daughter. She ran off and hid in random alcoves when emotionally distressed. She thought White was completely out of his mind. Her boggart bore an overwhelming resemblance to… Sirius halted his train of thought, which he was slightly irritated to have been on in the first place. What he reasoned didn’t matter. The only person who knew was Artemesia, and she would tell him the truth eventually. Probably. Hopefully. She might not, but he couldn’t blame her. He had left her. Yes, he had had every intention of coming back after it was all over, but Sirius hadn’t been thinking about her at all during that surreal day. He just hadn’t been thinking. Artemesia didn’t seem to hold his actions against him, but Sirius still held them against himself. What kind of man did that?

And where the hell were White and Dorcas? They should have been back by now and not leaving him to consider life, the universe, and everything! Damn. Well, whenever they used to get together, they’d be at least an hour late to everyth—Sirius stopped and refused to allow himself to consider what he had just thought. It was just a mental slip. It meant nothing. White was White. Hell, Sirius might have even started to remember him, too. White had been a Slytherin in the year below him. Nothing too odd. Except that Sirius was well aware that he was fooling himself. He didn’t remember White at all and couldn’t think of anyone even vaguely like him, except—No. He didn’t remember anyone. No one, no one, no one.

Besides, White was alive. No one came back from the dead. No one, no matter how much Sirius pleaded or begged or cried. The dead were dead. So, White was who he said he was or someone similar. It didn’t matter how much Sirius hoped and wished it were different. Oh, God, how he wished it were true! To not feel the pain and the guilt was far more than he deserved, but if… No. He had engaged in too much wishful thinking already. What he hoped simply wasn’t possible. Reggie was cold and dead, in the ground, just like James.

James… Oh, God. No. No, none of this was supposed to have happened. Sirius wasn’t cut out for this. He tried to be a good godfather for Harry, but James and Lily should have been there! It should have been them! If Sirius hadn’t been such a fuck-up, he would have died for them, and then Harry would have had his parents. Sirius would have never fucked up anyone else’s life. Oh, why did James have to die? It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t any bloody fair!

James would have known what to do. He would have helped sort all this out, and Lily would have told Sirius to get a hold of himself. Honestly, Lily’s method would have been more effective, but that was Lily for you. It was easy to see why James fell in love with her, and after everything was sorted, James and Sirius would have found Remus and Peter (because he wouldn’t have betrayed them), and they would all go out for a drink. And they would be happy.

Dammit, why couldn’t White have been James? Why did he have to be Reggie? Why couldn’t James have been the one who was still alive? Why Sirius’s half-wit of a little brother? It wasn’t right! It wasn’t… It just wasn’t…

Oh, God, how could he think something like that? They both should have been alive, but they weren’t, and it was all Sirius’s fault. All his fault.

Sirius took a shaky breath. He had to calm down. He wasn’t thinking right. He wiped the tears from his eyes and, not finding a tissue, wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve. He must have looked ridiculous, breaking down like that in a public hallway. What a fool he was.

Anyway, as he said, Regulus was dead. White wasn’t. Therefore, White could not be Regulus, no matter what Sirius’s feelings on the matter were. Those were the facts, and nothing Sirius could do would change them. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Deciding he had waited long enough, Sirius was about to leave when Dorcas bounded down the hall with a disgruntled White bringing up the rear. Sirius sighed in relief and leaned back against the wall, choosing not to comment on the fact that White looked like he had again been through hell and the very clear fact that Dorcas was caffeinated. Dorcas continued to run around like a loon until White reached the door to the flat. With the realization that Sirius wasn’t going to say anything, White said conversationally, “You weren’t waiting too long, I hope?” as he unlocked the door.

Sirius shrugged as Dorcas rushed past them both and jumped onto the futon. “It wasn’t too long,” Sirius lied nonchalantly as he followed Dorcas inside. He was not particularly interested in White’s reaction to what he had said.

White shut the door behind him and locked it before sliding down to the floor and just sitting there. Sirius raised an eyebrow, and White explained, “She made me run halfway around London today. I think we might have set a land-speed record when she made me chase her through the British Museum.” Heading off the inevitable question, White continued, “I don’t understand, either, Sirius, so don’t ask me.”

“Any particular purpose to your gay romp, then, Dorcas?” Sirius asked her lightly, expecting anything but a clear answer. She might say something completely ridiculous, but nothing clear.

“I’m out of shape and thus had to get a little exercise,” Dorcas explained simply. She remained in her odd pose on the futon (she had managed to bend over the closest end of the futon backwards and was staring at Sirius upside down) as she continued, “Terry took me to Diagon Alley. I visited with Ollivander, and he was very interested in talking to Terry, but Terry was off doing something, so I said he was busy, sorry.”

“Are you in the mood to share the futon, Dorcas?” White asked from his position on the floor. The request prompted Dorcas to move slightly, and she was now sitting on the futon with her back on the seat cushions and her legs draped over the back. White moved to sit next to her.

Sirius chose to continue leaning against walls and picked the wall across from the two of them to lean against. With another sigh, he asked, “I assume we might be able to discuss everything now? Or do you want me to come back another time, White?”

White shook his head and replied, “No, I’m fine, and I know Dorcas has been looking forward to this discussion all day. If you don’t mind, I’m going to soundproof the room.” He then muttered a number of countermeasures against anyone who attempted to listen in. Dorcas cheerfully added some of her own with great enthusiasm.

Sirius smiled a little at that, and White finally said, “So. Dorcas. We told you last night what the horcruxes are and that Voldemort made some. Sirius implied I know where some of them are. That’s true.” He paused and mentioned to Sirius, “You might want to sit down. I didn’t tell you everything the last time we talked about this.” Sirius chose to stand. Whatever it was, he could deal with it. If not, then he deserved it. Looking as if he felt Sirius’s decision was unwise, White explained, “Voldemort created seven horcruxes. Dumbledore and I are in agreement on that. Three of the horcruxes are connected with the Four Founders. Two have personal meaning to Voldemort. The final two, however, have somewhat disparate containers. I’ll talk about them later. I know the exact location of three horcruxes. A second three are in less permanent locations, but I know generally where they are. The seventh, however, I have no bloody clue about. Ravenclaw’s diadem’s been lost for generations, and there is no way in hell that I’m talking to the Hogwarts ghosts about any of it.”

“Why? It’s not like they’re going to eat your soul or anything,” Dorcas commented from her position next to him on the futon. “Besides, why would they know anything?”

Sirius grimaced and said, “I don’t particularly blame you there, White. No one talks to the Bloody Baron lightly, and the Grey Lady isn’t known to take inquiries into her past well.” He understood now why White was nervous about the horcruxes. All of the books had neglected to mention if the creator of the horcruxes could tell if they were destroyed. There was a more than likely chance that Voldemort couldn’t because the pieces of his soul had been completely severed, but White seemed like the kind of man who didn’t take those sort of chances.

“Right,” White agreed, continuing, “Also, even if we do manage to convince one or the other to mention where the diadem was lost, we only know where it was. Voldemort would not have left it in the same location in which it had been lost.” White looked slightly frustrated and explained, “I tried to figure out where the final horcruxes were during both my self-imposed exile and my recent time in the Death Eaters, but I still haven’t been able to find anything on this horcrux. I had better luck with the rest. The Headmaster informed me of the location of the Gaunt ring and that the diary has been put to rest.”

“So that diary Harry destroyed was a horcrux?” Sirius realized. He should have figured that out sooner. There were a number of possibilities for what the diary could have been, but Sirius should have realized. “Damn,” Sirius muttered before asking, “That’s when Dumbledore discovered the horcruxes, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” White admitted, pensive. Sirius then noticed that Dorcas was studying White’s behavior as he was explaining the entire problem. She seemed concerned for him, which Sirius had to admit was not too odd, but she had always been the most observant of all of them. Breaking out of the daze he had put himself in, White cleared his throat and continued, “The next two horcruxes are the easiest to locate but possibly the most difficult to collect.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow and queried, “Nothing so difficult as waltzing into Voldemort’s lair and stealing them right under his nose, is it? Because, honestly, White, I can’t think of anything more difficult than that.”

Putting in her two cents, Dorcas declared, “If we need to raid anything, I know a guy who can get us a dragon. They’re very useful in raiding. The Vikings used to—” She broke off when she noticed that Sirius and White were staring at her with identical expressions of please-tell-me-you’re-kidding. “Fine. Ignore me, but we will require a dragon, I swear to you both.”

White was oddly silent for a moment before admitting, “Well, the first horcrux is the locket, which is—I assume—at Grimmauld.” (Dorcas broke in with an I-told-you-so about the dragon.) Ignoring her, White continued, “And the second is Hufflepuff’s cup. Bellatrix Lestrange was entrusted with it, so she has obviously hidden it. The problem with where she hid the cup is that…” Unwilling to continue, White bit his lip but admitted, “We may need a dragon. At least.”

Dorcas turned to look at White in disbelief and protested rather ineffectively, “No! I have a clean record! I refuse! Even if it means lots of roller-coastery fun, no!” She then hid underneath the blanket she had been sitting on. Sirius, on the other hand, needed a translator with what White was getting at. Truly, he needed White to say it himself, because Sirius did not want to jump to an incorrect conclusion that was possibly more horrifying than getting caught breaking and entering at Death Eater headquarters.

White smiled hesitantly and admitted, “Yes, it is hidden in Gringotts.” He had apparently noted that Sirius was restraining himself from hitting something and continued, “But on the bright side, Bellatrix can’t just walk in and claim it back. So, we could leave it for last.”

Sirius nodded and said, “I suppose we’ll have to.” After a moment, he mentioned, “Then again, we could always ask Dumbledore to get us a warrant to search her vault. That way, what we’re doing would be legal. Of course, the goblins would hate whoever signed it for all eternity.”

Dorcas came out from under the blanket and shrugged. “Not necessarily. If you were a judge, they probably wouldn’t care since your family’s bloody loaded. If you withdrew all the money from the family vaults, they’d be pissed off at you, but Bellatrix is family, right?”

That was it! Sirius laughed. How had he missed it? Of course she would put it in that vault! No way in hell she would put it in the Lestrange vault. No, this was a great honor for her to be chosen to hide a part of Voldemort’s soul, even if she was unaware of the true nature of Hufflepuff’s cup. Dorcas and White were staring at Sirius like he had gone mad, which was rather rich coming from the two of them. Grinning, Sirius explained, “If Bellatrix put it in her dowry vault, which I think she might have, then I should have a copy of the key back at Grimmauld. So, we don’t have to pull off some crazy scheme that would probably land us in Azkaban!”

White covered his eyes with a hand and said, “I should have thought of that.” At Dorcas’s confused expression, White explained, “Bellatrix is the kind of person who would make sure that the honor of looking after a valuable possession of Voldemort’s would be hers and hers alone.”

Dorcas understood and continued the line of reasoning, “So then she would put it in a vault belonging to her to make sure everyone knew who was guarding it. That makes perfect sense.” With a grin, she decided, “I can retrieve that one. I would most enjoy the ride into the vaults, but I suppose you’d have to accompany me, wouldn’t you?”

Sirius grimaced and replied, “I guess. I’m probably the only other person who can access that vault, unless the goblins have gone back to their old opinion of as long as you have the key, they don’t give a damn who’s withdrawing anything.”

“It would probably be best if you went, Sirius. Maybe all of us, but that might be a little suspicious. I don’t know. We should cross that bridge when we get there,” White said, thinking aloud. “In any case, the second to last horcrux is this snake that Voldemort has around. It’s a bloody big snake, but I suppose it wouldn’t be that difficult to kill it. Worst comes to worst, I could just flambé the thing with fiendfyre and be done with it. ‘Course I’d have to run like hell from Voldemort if I did that, but what’s a little deadly, uncontrollable fire between enemies?”

“I’m going to classify that as another bridge to burn when we get to it,” Dorcas said. Sirius was about to ask what the final horcrux was when Dorcas continued, “You don’t really want to discuss what the last horcrux is yet, do you?” When it didn’t look like White was going to respond, Dorcas answered the question for him, “Of course, you didn’t. Okay. So. New problem. When exactly are we going to get this done? I’m free, obviously, but Sirius, you’re teaching at Hogwarts, and Terry here is all governmental or something. I think we have an itty-bitty logistics problem.” She grinned nervously and said, “Just a little food for thought,” before taking (ineffective) cover under the blanket once more.

Sirius knew that White’s entire purpose in the UK was to get rid of Voldemort once and for all, but Dorcas did have a point. White couldn’t exactly just tell his boss that oh, he was just going to go on a short, little interminable camping trip. Sirius did have a problem, too. What was he going to do? He couldn’t just assume Dumbledore would let him go. Sirius needed to find a replacement, didn’t he? There was a complete dearth of DADA teachers, hence why he was roped into this mad plot in the first place, but Sirius couldn’t in his right mind subject the students to Umbridge. That was cruel and unusual punishment.

“It’s fine for me. I already have an iron-clad reason for taking leaves of absence,” White mentioned quietly. Despite the fact that it sounded like he had no problem with up and leaving, his expression betrayed some guilt. Sirius wondered then if White felt guilty about the reason instead of the action. After all, it certainly seemed that White was only fighting this war in order to avenge someone or even to avenge himself. Distracted, White continued, “First thing I figured out, once I knew I’d be coming back, you know?” He really did look depressed by that point, and not a little guilty, too. Sirius wondered why White felt that badly until he remembered that White had always been skirting around the subject of his older brother. Sirius felt it would be better if he didn’t pry, especially considering his earlier thoughts on family.

Realizing it was his turn to say something, Sirius mentioned, “Well, if I find a replacement for my position, I suppose that Dumbledore would let me leave. Although, we could plan this escapade around our jobs. Well, Terry and I could. Dorcas, you can plan it around your incredibly busy schedule. I hope you can find the time.” Sirius fell silent again, wondering if that wasn’t the better route. If he just took some time off on either sides of weekends, then he could avoid the problem of finding a replacement all together. That said, Umbridge’s continued presence could cause major problems. He would not give her an excuse to fire him. That could undermine Dumbledore’s authority and possibly allow even more idiocy on the part of the Ministry. Sirius tried not to consider what could happen if Umbridge became temporary Headmistress. Actually, he could see the Weasley twins calling it a day and quitting school. As amusing as that might be to witness, Sirius knew that was a worst-case scenario.

Then, the excuse came to him. Sirius knew that it probably was not the most brilliant thing he had come up with, but it would work. “I know how I can resign. I’ll ask Remus to come back. He’ll complain, but I think he’d do it. Then, I tell Dumbledore so long and thanks for all the fish, but I’m going to go get psychiatric help now,” he said, before he again thought of earlier. Maybe he should go that route regardless of the final decision here. “…Shit. I do not want to do this.”

“You’ll tell him the truth, though. Right?” Dorcas asked, suddenly rather serious. Sirius recognized that look of hers. She was done with joking around and was genuinely concerned for her friend. That was wonderful. He had managed to make Dorcas get serious. Was he really that much of a wreck? Or was he just acting poorly now? Dorcas seemed to consider what she had asked and said, “No, of course you will. That’s what you’ll say for the Ministry.”

“And they’ll believe it because they want to, whether or not it is true,” White added with a slight frown. Sirius was wondering what was wrong with him, but he could have just been thinking about how the plan could go wrong—because it could, in many, many ways.

Dorcas, apparently happy with what had been decided, said, “Now that we’ve agreed on a course of action, I propose that we regroup at Christmas Hols, because then Sirius actually has a legitimate excuse to be AWOL, and I assume he’s staying at Hogwarts until then, n’est pas?” When neither White nor Sirius disagreed during the couple of seconds in which she left for them to answer, Dorcas declared, “Good. Now, I am going to take a nap, which requires Terry standing up or otherwise removing himself from the couch.”

White, for one reason or another, complied with Dorcas’s wishes. Sirius raised an eyebrow, but White just shrugged and said, “What can you do?” Sirius followed him into the kitchen area, where White assayed the contents of the refrigerator. Sirius saw that there was some sort of creature growing in the vegetable bin. He vaguely wondered if it were sentient yet. “So, are you really going to quit? Or are you going to take a leave of absence?” White asked with some concern. “It seems as if you really like that job, Sirius.”

Sirius turned to look at White with some surprise. After all, he had just been considering the sentience of the contents of the man’s refrigerator. In all honesty, however, Sirius wasn’t sure how to respond. Did he admit that he did like the job? Or did he just say it was necessary for the greater good? Sirius didn’t much believe in the greater good bullshit, either, so he wasn’t sure. “Leave of absence might make more sense. It seems as if we might be able to pull this off in a week, really,” Sirius replied carefully.

None too optimistically, White replied, “I sure hope so.” He paused then, as if strongly considering changing his mind, offered, “Day old coffee?”

Sirius laughed and said, “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.” He watched White examine and ultimately toss out what sludge was present in the coffee pot and put new coffee grounds in the machine. White didn’t stop with the coffee and attempted to start cleaning out the refrigerator as the coffee was brewing. Smiling, Sirius suggested, “White, it might be a good idea for you to just give up and scourgify the decaying food remnants away. Really, you’re fighting a losing battle.”

White grinned at Sirius and admitted, “Yeah, it is pretty much useless.”

“Luckily, I happen to specialize in rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic,” Sirius informed him as he glanced in the fridge again. Smiling slightly, he continued, “Christ, I haven’t seen a fridge this bad since we moved James out of his old apartment. Remus and Peter always said they’d seen something moving in the freezer.” Sirius felt a twinge of guilt at the memory but dismissed the feeling. He hadn’t been able to do the right thing then, but he had another chance now. Grinning back at White, Sirius said, “Move over. I’ll help.”

White looked a little stunned but moved over anyway. “Thanks,” he murmured, embarrassed. And so, they cleaned out the fridge, with Dorcas occasionally coming to steal a cup of coffee and offer a distraction. By the time he left, Sirius almost felt at peace.

Notes: Two year anniversary! And I'm still not finished writing the story... Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I hope you're still enjoying the fic!

Coming Soon: Luna psychoanalyzes, and Remus listens to conspiracy theories.