Inside Silverhand Manor.
The golden cup was placed under a crystal dome, while John sat flipping through Secrets of Cutting-Edge Dark Magic.
"The creation of a Horcrux involves the splitting of the soul."
The book floated in midair, its pages turning with the swipe of John's fingers.
Staring at the book, John murmured to himself, "Horcruxes possess incredibly strong magical resistance, which makes them difficult to destroy."
Ordinary spells couldn't break a Horcrux—the objects used for Horcruxes were extraordinarily tough.
If John wanted to destroy one, he had multiple methods at his disposal.
Both Fiendfyre and the Sword of Silverwick can do it.
But he doesn't need to do this because he has destroyed Voldemort's two Horcruxes.
Excluding Harry, there were four left.
One of them—the golden cup—was now in his possession, and John intended to use it to track down the remaining three.
Horcruxes had a certain connection to each other. John had confirmed this through Harry.
However, unlike Harry or Nagini—both living beings—the golden cup had no consciousness of its own.
Voldemort could use it to influence others, but it couldn't establish a mental link.
He opened the crystal dome, and whispers drifted out—like the seductive murmurs of a demon.
John remained expressionless as he took the golden cup out.
"Arrogant, just like your master," he remarked.
Holding the cup in his right hand, black threads extended from his fingertips, wrapping around the cup.
In that instant, the soul-bound whispering intensified.
John raised an eyebrow and cast the Soul-Draining Curse to envelop the cup.
His magic power began to drain rapidly.
His eyes swept over the counterfeit Sword of Gryffindor nearby. With a flick of thought, he activated a Summoning Charm.
The fake Gryffindor sword flew into his grasp, connecting to the cup.
The black threads of the Soul-Draining Curse tugged at a twisted soul that refused to leave the cup.
Seeing this, John increased the intensity. The soul gradually began to tear away.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes locked on the cup.
"Ripping a soul out directly is still quite strenuous," he muttered.
His right hand quickly turned silver, then swiftly shifted to black.
Five magic crystals channeled power into the Philosopher's Stone, rapidly replenishing John's depleted magical energy.
"Still trying to resist?"
That soul force surged toward John's arm. He frowned, and his pupils narrowed into slits.
Black magic coursed across his body as he raised his wand with his left hand and slashed downward.
The Horcrux fragments that clung stubbornly were struck hard, quickly withering.
Part of the soul's power was transferred into the fake Sword of Gryffindor—only a portion, but enough for John to use.
He stuffed the golden cup back into the crystal dome, clapped his hands together, and a magic circle appeared on the surface of the fake Gryffindor sword.
Voldemort's power was forcibly sealed into the fake Gryffindor sword!
A flash of silver light glinted across the sword, then quickly vanished.
With everything complete, John picked up the sword.
"It's absorbed the Horcrux's power and established a connection with it, nice!"
He brought the sword close to the golden cup, and the gem on the sword emitted a dazzling glow.
A Horcrux detector.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as John looked at the fake Gryffindor sword and said, "You need a new name—let's call you the Sword of Marvolo."
The fake Sword of Gryffindor was officially renamed.
John was thoroughly enjoying his own mischief.
Holding this sword—wasn't it basically a case of Grandpa looking for his grandkid?
Due to the infusion of power, the Sword of Marvolo now carried an added force, one that brought a kind of damage akin to Dark Magic.
With everything settled, John closed the crystal dome and left the room.
He gripped the Sword of Marvolo, channeling magic into it.
"Blood Trace."
Though there was no actual blood, the sword contained the Horcrux energy of Voldemort.
John said Blood Trace in the Dragon language, and a wave rippled out from the Sword of Marvolo, spreading in all directions.
Suddenly, John sensed a disturbance.
It came from the Sword of Marvolo—a faint signal, but enough to point him in a direction.
Somewhere within London.
John looked down. The pendant on his chest began to vibrate.
"Sirius? No… it's Black."
John's pupils contracted as he stared at the pendant.
If the Sword of Marvolo hadn't malfunctioned, then this vibration was telling him the location of another Horcrux.
It couldn't be Sirius—so that meant another place.
The old Black family home.
Which meant...
The Order of the Phoenix?
John stared at the Sword of Marvolo, debating whether he should double-check.
After all, expecting him to believe that one of Voldemort's Horcruxes was right under Dumbledore's nose—it was more than a little horrifying.
A cruel twist of fate?
"Which Horcrux is it?"
John furrowed his brows. He'd been around the Black family's collection before.
Logically speaking, if there had been a Horcrux, he should've sensed it.
Or... did Sirius not show him everything last time?
Feeling a wave of frustration, John found himself itching to return to the Order of the Phoenix.
Unfortunately, if he were to act rashly, the Order of the Phoenix might just change locations.
"If it's connected to the Black family, then I can rule out a situation like the diary."
Back in his second year, another of Voldemort's Horcruxes—the diary—had been brought into Hogwarts by Ginny Weasley.
He had assumed it had come from an outsider, but the feedback from the Sword of Marvolo indicated it belonged to the Black family.
Only the one who removed it could be considered its owner.
Aside from Sirius Black, most of the other members of the Black family were already dead.
Suddenly, a flash of insight sparked in his mind.
A name surfaced—
Narcissa Malfoy...
Or rather, Narcissa Black.
Draco's mother. Lucius's wife.
Once one of the "Always Pure" daughters of the Black family.
"I need to find the right time—when both Voldemort and Lucius aren't around."
John would need to arrange a meeting with Narcissa. And the way to do that—was through Draco.
Narcissa was not a Death Eater.
She was a clever woman—and a capable wife.
"Let's hope she'll be willing to help me."
John pondered for a moment, then stuffed the Sword of Marvolo into his small satchel.
Leaving Silverhand Manor, he sent a message to Draco.
Draco Malfoy was a little puzzled—why did John want to meet his mother? But out of trust for John, he still found an opportunity to speak with Narcissa.
"Your friend really said that?" Narcissa was equally confused upon hearing that her son's friend wanted to meet her.
But she wasn't her son. As a wise Slytherin, she was able to piece together a mental image of this friend from Draco's brief words.
A perfect Slytherin—with enough ambition, and the resolve to protect his friends.
"Arrange a time to meet with him," Narcissa told her son.
"All right, I'll go with you."
Draco was eager to accompany his mother, but Narcissa refused.
Considering her son's intelligence was on par with her husband's, she felt it might be better if he didn't come along.
This left Draco feeling thoroughly frustrated.
Narcissa didn't want her son getting involved in her foolish husband's Death Eater activities, though she was feeling a bit suspicious herself.
Why had her husband changed so much? Others might not have noticed…
But as the one who shared his bed, Narcissa could tell—Lucius was different.
Not in the sense of a personality shift, but as if he had lost a part of his memory.
Being a clever woman, she observed closely and became certain: the part Lucius had lost was related to Johnny Silverhand.
Lucius had once respectfully addressed Johnny Silverhand as "Your Excellency." Now, he simply called him by name.
All the previous respect had completely vanished.
If it were just because Voldemort had returned and Lucius had gotten cocky—
That was impossible.
Lucius knew perfectly well how powerful Johnny Silverhand was. Even if Voldemort had returned, Lucius wouldn't have turned his back on someone like that so recklessly.
After ruling out all other possibilities, no matter how absurd the remaining answer seemed, it had to be the truth.
Lucius had forgotten that part of his memory—or perhaps hidden it.
And all of it was likely connected to Johnny Silverhand.
Narcissa clearly remembered the day Lucius had excitedly told her he was going to "change some things."
What was it?
That lifelong Dark Mark.
Lord Johnny Silverhand had promised to remove it.
In the future, Draco would no longer be whispered about as the "son of a Death Eater."
Lucius had changed—Narcissa saw it clearly.
To give up all of that... he could only have done it for their son.
Watching Lucius lower himself, kneeling before Voldemort, Narcissa turned her eyes away.
She was afraid something would happen to Lucius.
A surge of resentment welled up in her chest.
Voldemort, why are you still alive? Wouldn't it be better if you were dead, so our family could finally be free of this chaos?
___________
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