A Godfather's Gambit

You know how sometimes things just build up until they explode? Well, that's exactly what happened between Harry and Ron that night in the tent. It had been brewing for weeks - hell, maybe months - and finally, it all came crashing down.

The three of them were huddled around their pathetic excuse for a fire, the Horcrux hanging heavy around Ron's neck like some sort of cursed anchor. Ron had been getting more and more irritable lately, snapping at everything and nothing, and Harry was getting bloody tired of it.

"So what's the brilliant plan now, Harry?" Ron's voice dripped with sarcasm as he poked at the fire with a stick. "Still following your gut feelings and hoping for the best?"

Harry looked up from the map he'd been studying, feeling that familiar surge of irritation. "If you've got a better idea, Ron, I'm all ears."

"Oh, right, because the great Harry Potter is always open to suggestions," Ron shot back, his voice getting louder. "Just like you were open to telling us what Dumbledore actually said to you before he died."

"I told you everything that matters," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Bullshit!" Ron exploded, jumping to his feet. "You've been keeping secrets from day one! Always the bloody hero, aren't you? Can't trust your best mates with the whole truth."

Hermione tried to intervene. "Ron, please, we've been over this—"

"No, Hermione!" Ron whirled on her. "I'm sick of making excuses for him! We've been wandering around like idiots for months, getting nowhere, and for what? Because Harry's got some sort of savior complex?"

That did it. Harry shot to his feet, his hands clenched into fists. "Savior complex? Are you completely mental? I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't want to be here, sleeping on the ground, eating mushrooms, and listening to you whine like a spoiled brat!"

"Spoiled brat?" Ron's face went red. "At least I'm not walking around acting like the world revolves around me! 'Oh, look at me, I'm Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived!' Well, news flash, mate - maybe you should've died with your parents!"

The words hung in the air like a physical blow. Hermione gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Harry felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

"You bastard," Harry whispered, his voice deadly quiet. "You absolute bastard."

"What? Can't handle the truth?" Ron was on a roll now, all his pent-up resentment pouring out, the locket's influence amplifying everything. "Your parents are dead, Harry. Dead and gone. And you know what? Maybe they're better off not seeing what a arrogant prick their son turned out to be!"

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked, but Harry was already moving.

"Don't you ever," Harry snarled, grabbing Ron by the front of his shirt, "EVER talk about my parents again, you worthless piece of shit!"

Ron shoved him back hard. "Or what? You'll kill me too? Add me to your body count? How many people have died because of you, Harry? How many?"

The question hit Harry like a sledgehammer. Images flashed through his mind - Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, all the people who'd died in the war so far. His vision went red.

"Fuck you, Ron! FUCK YOU!" Harry's voice cracked with emotion. "You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted any of this responsibility? I'd trade places with any of them in a heartbeat!"

"Would you? Would you really?" Ron laughed bitterly. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're enjoying being the center of attention. The great Harry Potter, saving the world again!"

"You're jealous," Harry realized, his voice filled with disgust. "That's what this is really about, isn't it? You're jealous because you're not the famous one. You're just a spare, just like you've always been!"

Ron's face contorted with rage. "At least I have a family that actually loves me! At least I'm not some orphaned freak who—"

The punch caught Ron square in the jaw, sending him stumbling backward. He recovered quickly, launching himself at Harry with a roar of fury. They went down in a tangle of limbs, rolling around on the ground, throwing wild punches.

"Stop it! STOP IT!" Hermione was screaming, trying to pull them apart, but they were beyond hearing her.

"You always resented me!" Harry grunted, landing a solid hit to Ron's ribs. "Always waiting for me to fail!"

"Because you're not as special as you think you are!" Ron spat, blood running from his split lip. "You're just a screwed-up kid with a scar!"

They broke apart, both breathing hard, glaring at each other with pure hatred.

"You know what, Ron?" Harry wiped blood from his nose. "You're right. I'm not special. I'm just the idiot who thought his best friend would stick by him when things got tough. Guess I was wrong about that too."

"Yeah, well, maybe your best friend is tired of cleaning up your messes," Ron shot back. "Tired of living in your shadow, tired of pretending you're not a selfish git who only cares about himself!"

"Then leave," Harry said quietly, his voice deadly calm. "If being around me is so bloody awful, just leave."

Ron stared at him for a long moment, his chest heaving. "You know what? I will. I'm done with this. I'm done with you."

He turned to Hermione, his expression softening slightly. "Come with me, Hermione. We don't have to stay here and watch him destroy himself."

Hermione looked between them, tears streaming down her face. For a moment, Harry thought she might actually go with Ron, and his heart clenched with fear.

But then she shook her head. "I can't, Ron. I can't abandon him."

Ron's face crumpled, then hardened again. "Fine. Stay with your precious Harry. See if I care."

He grabbed his pack and started shoving his things into it. "When you finally realize what a selfish bastard he really is, don't come crying to me."

"Ron, please," Hermione tried one more time. "Don't do this. We need to stick together."

"No," Ron said firmly, slinging his pack over his shoulder. "You need to stick together. I need to get the hell away from here before I do something I'll really regret."

He looked at Harry one last time, his eyes filled with hurt and anger. "I hope it's worth it, mate. I hope being the great Harry Potter is worth losing everyone who ever cared about you."

He threw the locked on the ground and with that, he turned and walked out into the darkness, the sound of his disapparition echoing through the night like a gunshot.

The silence that followed was deafening. Harry stood there, staring at the spot where Ron had been, feeling like someone had hollowed out his chest with a spoon. Hermione was still crying softly, her arms wrapped around herself.

"I'm sorry," Harry said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

She wiped her eyes and looked at him. "It's not your fault, Harry. The Horcrux... it affects all of us. Makes us say things we don't mean."

"Do you think that's all it was?" Harry asked, sinking onto a cot. "Or do you think he meant it?"

Hermione was quiet for a long moment. "I think... I think Ron's been struggling for a long time. With feeling like he doesn't measure up, like he's not important. The Horcrux just made it worse."

Harry nodded miserably. "I should have seen it coming. Should have done something."

"What could you have done?" Hermione sat down beside him. "Ron made his choice, Harry. He chose to leave."

They sat in silence for a while, the reality of their situation settling over them. Finally, Harry spoke up.

"Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?"

Hermione looked confused. "What elephant?"

"You and Ron." Harry studied her face. "I know you two had... feelings for each other. This has to be killing you."

To his surprise, Hermione actually laughed - a short, bitter sound. "Oh, Harry. You have no idea, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

Hermione sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Ron and I... we talked about that. About us. A few weeks ago, actually."

Harry frowned. "Talked about what?"

"About how we both realized we'd been fooling ourselves," Hermione said simply. "We thought we had romantic feelings for each other, but when we really examined it, we realized it was just... I don't know, familiarity? Proximity? We've been friends for so long that we confused that closeness for something else."

"Really?" Harry felt a strange mixture of relief and confusion.

"Really." Hermione nodded. "We both agreed that we work much better as friends. The romantic tension was actually making things awkward between us. Once we cleared the air, things got much easier."

"So you're not... heartbroken?" Harry asked carefully.

"About Ron leaving? Yes, I'm heartbroken. He's one of my best friends." Hermione's voice was steady. "But not in the way you're thinking. I'm not crying over lost love, Harry. I'm crying because our trio just became a duo, and I don't know if we'll ever be the same again."

Harry felt some of the weight lift from his shoulders. At least he hadn't cost Hermione her chance at happiness with Ron. That was something, at least.

"So what do we do now?" he asked.

Hermione straightened up, wiping the last of her tears away. "We keep going. We find the rest of the Horcruxes. We finish what Dumbledore started."

"Just the two of us?"

"Just the two of us," she confirmed. "We've got each other, Harry. That's more than a lot of people have."

Harry managed a small smile. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

They spent the next hour going through their supplies, trying to figure out their next move. The map was spread out between them, marked with all the places they'd already searched and come up empty.

"We need a new approach," Hermione said, chewing on the end of her quill. "We can't keep wandering around hoping to stumble across information."

"I know," Harry agreed. "But I don't know what else to do. It's not like Voldemort left us a bloody treasure map."

Hermione was quiet for a moment, then looked up at him. "Harry, what about the things Sirius left you? Maybe there's something of Regulus that might have a hint. Have you gone through all of them?"

Harry's stomach clenched. "Most of them, yeah."

"Most of them?"

Harry sighed and reached for his pack, pulling out a small leather pouch he'd been carrying since the reading of Sirius's will. "There's this," he said reluctantly.

Hermione peered at the pouch. "What's in it?"

"Some of Sirius's personal things. Stuff he wanted me to have." Harry's voice was tight. "I've looked through most of it, but there's... there's a letter I haven't opened yet."

"Why not?"

"Because it's his last words to me," Harry said simply. "Once I read it, that's it. No more messages from Sirius. Ever."

Hermione's expression softened with understanding. "Oh, Harry."

"I know it's stupid," Harry continued, his voice getting rougher. "I know he's gone, and I know reading a letter isn't going to bring him back. But as long as I don't read it, I can pretend there's still something left of him out there, you know?"

Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand. "It's not stupid. It's completely understandable. Losing Sirius was... it was devastating. I get why you'd want to hold onto that last connection."

Harry felt his eyes burning. "He was the closest thing to a father I ever had. And I got him killed."

"No," Hermione said firmly. "You didn't get him killed, Harry. Bellatrix killed him. Voldemort killed him. The war killed him. But not you."

Harry wanted to argue, but he was too tired to fight about it. Instead, he just stared at the pouch in his hands.

"Maybe..." Hermione said gently, "maybe it's time to read it. I know it's scary, but what if there's something in there that could help us? Sirius might've been a joker, but he was incredibly smart too, and he knew things about the wizarding world that most people didn't."

"What if it's just a goodbye?" Harry asked. "What if it's just him telling me he loves me and to be brave and all that? I don't think I can handle that right now."

"Then we'll handle it together," Hermione said simply. "Whatever it says, you won't be reading it alone."

Harry looked at her, seeing the steady determination in her eyes and the unwavering support. She was right. He couldn't keep carrying this around like some sort of talisman. Sirius wouldn't want that.

"Okay," he said finally. "Okay, let's do it."

With shaking hands, Harry opened the pouch and pulled out several items - a photograph of his parents, a small silver mirror, a folded piece of parchment that looked official, and finally, a sealed envelope with his name written on it in Sirius's familiar scrawl.

Harry stared at the envelope for a long moment, then looked up at Hermione. She nodded encouragingly.

He broke the seal and unfolded the letter, his heart hammering in his chest. As he began to read, his expression grew increasingly confused.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, noticing his frown.

Harry read the letter again, then looked up at her with a bewildered expression. "I... I don't understand. This doesn't sound like Sirius at all. I mean it does, but it doesn't too. It's weird."

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, Harry handed her the letter. Hermione took it and began to read aloud:

"Dear Harry,

If you're reading this, then I'm probably dead, which is a bit of a bummer, but what can you do? Life's a bitch and then you die, as they say.

Anyway, I've got something for you that's a bit more useful than my sparkling personality and devastating good looks. There's a property that's been in the Black family for generations - nasty place, really, full of dark magic and come with… well, let's call them special features.' Don't freak out when you see them. Just go with it. Trust me on this one.

The family might've owned it, but no one's lived there in generations. I can guess, and let me tell you, I would've killed to live there, but life's a bitch and Wormtail's a rat.

But what I do know is that it's got the best bloody wards in Britain. Maybe even better than Grimmauld Place.

The location is magically bound to this letter - just focus on it and you'll be able to apparate there. The place is called Grimmauld Manor (yes, I know, we Blacks are terrible at naming things).

Here's the thing, kiddo – I hope it's not the case but if something's gone tits up in a major way and you probably need a place to hide, this is your best bet. This manor is warded to the eyeballs and keyed to the Black family magic. Since you're my heir now, it'll recognize you.

Stay alive, you magnificent bastard.

Love, Sirius

P.S. - The password to get past the main wards is 'Purity.' I would've changed it to 'Snape is a greasy git' if only I'd been there. Would've suited much better."

Hermione finished reading and looked up at Harry with wide eyes. "This is... very much like Sirius, actually."

"The language, yeah," Harry agreed. "But the content? He never mentioned any manor to me. And what did he mean by 'special features'?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, "but he's right about one thing - if Hogwarts has fallen, we need somewhere safe to regroup. And if this place has the best wards in Britain..."

"It might be our best shot," Harry finished. "Better than camping out here, anyway."

They looked at each other for a moment, and Hermione nodded decisively. "Let's do it. Let's go check out this manor."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. "We don't know what we're walking into."

"We never do," Hermione pointed out. "But we can't keep running forever, Harry. We need a base of operations, somewhere we can plan our next moves without looking over our shoulders constantly."

She was right, as usual. Harry carefully folded the letter and put it back in the pouch, then started packing up their meager camp.

"How does the apparition work?" Hermione asked as she shrunk their tent.

"The letter says to focus on it," Harry said, pulling out the parchment again. "I guess I just concentrate on the location and..."

He trailed off as words began to appear on the previously blank parchment - an address, written in the same flowing script as the letter.

"Blimey," Harry muttered. "That's handy."

"Very," Hermione agreed. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded and held out his arm. Hermione took it, and he focused on the address, visualizing the location as best he could. The familiar sensation of disapparition took hold, and they were squeezed through space with a sharp crack.

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