“It was when I was pregnant with Dudley for four months. I was staying with mum and dad since Vernon was on business trip. Lily arrived one noon, exclaiming loudly to mum that she was carrying, too. See, now I have to share mum’s attention with her, so also my baby would have to share with her baby!! I was burning with jealousy. I virtually imprisoned myself in my bedroom to avoid her. But that was not to happen, for I not only met her and her husband but also that… that…that…terrible man who later on went to kill her.”

“You know, Voldemort killed my mum and then attacked me. Well, I know, I mean I heard, dad yelling, mum talking and His laugh, and er… have … er … kept seeing … since unknown time … flash of green light.” McGonagall’s expressions mingled and she looked oddly at Harry.
“I mean to say, I don’t recall seeing his face then, but want to, now, so is that possible? I, at the age of one year might not have seen him, but can we see him now if we enter my memory of that time? Can I extract that memory of mine?”

“Oh, baby Potty, Snape told us that you would have gone by this time. Why are you lurking in here, playing, baby boy?” Harry sent a stunner towards Bellatrix who was talking in that irritating mock baby voice. She deflected it with casual flick of wand. “So, you still think, you can fight with me! Come on, let’s play. Crucio.”

He remembered how he had been there purchasing his wand. It was a triumphant feeling, first time laying hands on a magical wand, which gives you power to perform all sorts of things, which really makes you powerful. “Ron! Don’t you think there is something strange here?
I sort of felt odd when I looked through the glass. Hey, wasn’t here on the display a wand sitting on a cushion? That seems missing too.”

Dumbledore never knew about these facts as Adrian never told him about Tom Riddle’s visit here. Hadn’t it been for Harry asking for the same things in the same manner as that of the similarly aged lad years ago, Adrian would never have recalled such a feeble incidence and the truth might have never resurfaced, denying the vital clue to Harry in search of Horcruxes.

Mundungus quivered under the fierce look that Harry gave him. His left hand moved towards his chest so as to grab hold something. “I don’t suppose so.” He suddenly replied, but the voice he spoke was much hoarse.

“It’s mine,” he said in the same hoarse grunt. “My ancestral relic. I won’t let you have it, Harry Potter.”

“The Dark Lord’s arrival there was a sudden twist in the plan. No one would have known it beforehand. He decided to go himself only when Dolohov reported of your presence. But you seemed to know exact moment of his arrival.”

It was a blade, for sure, but very strange, though. It was hanging by a hole, roped in the thick golden chain around his neck, resting on vast chest of Gryffindor just like any pendant would. But the paw-long blade reached almost to the belly of the man, flashing zigzag metal on the strip line of the cloak. Harry knew he had seen one of the same kinds somewhere before, but couldn’t remember where.

“I think, what will most impress you is,” he crossed over to the tapestry behind Harry’s back, Harry’s eyes following him, “this.” He pointed at the colourful tapestry. “This was woven by Ravenclaw herself, silk threads blended in the wool, and if you can notice,” he pointed at a few of shiny strands crisscrossing the length, “unicorn hairs.”

“Harry?” Ron was very white. “What do you think has happened to him suddenly?” he asked Hermione.
“I don’t know. Sounds like he is having one of his visions. If so, then there is nothing we could do to help him. But if it is something related to the Horcrux then we must finish it first.” Saying so, she concentrated again on cutting the tiara. With a jolt of surprise she found that the small part she was able to cut had repaired itself.

“It will happen anytime after I return to the Castle, because he does not want me involved in it directly to avoid suspicion. But when, that I do not know. I am only organising the things on his order. Still, I do not know the finest details.” He sighed audibly, “The secrecy of the Dark Lord even forbids the Death Eaters to discuss it amongst themselves.”

The cupboard is most treasured store of key materials for centuries. Secrets of Ollivanders’ wandlore are kept hidden in there. Only those of the family who wish to study those secrets in true sense and wish to use them to enhance the art of wandlore are allowed to enter. Needless to say, I failed to please grandfather on that ground and he almost threw me out of the shop along with my mother. That bitterness is still etched on my mind

Harry quickly skimmed through the pages but couldn’t find anything about Hogsmeade in it. So, whatever their intention might be, the Order had been successful in keeping the news from not only the opponents but also from the Prophet till they had announced it officially – a considerable feat, seeing that Rita Skeeter was involved in the Quibbler articles.

He removed the wristlet and put it on his palm. The Gryffindor lions were shining brightly. “It has to be me instead of you, eh?” he asked with grimace. He thanked Gryffindor for not making the wristlet a talking one like the Sorting Hat, or it would have openly voiced his horrors he had refrained from telling to others – “Yes, lad, you are the one!”

Harry knew he had very little time to act. While his counterpart was busy avoiding rebounded spells and trying to break through the shield, Harry grabbed the fake galleon from his pocket and tapped it with his wand. The message was set, ready to be delivered when he would press it again. He clutched the coin firmly in his left hand. Then he pulled a heavy string pouch from another pocket and emptied it on the ground.

 


He halted in front of a lone picture hung in the middle of the blank stretch of wall. Beams of light ensuing from the oil lamp situated exactly on the opposite wall could hardly make the drawing distinguishable from the dull frame.

 

“This is it,” Malfoy pointed at the picture.



 “Zac’s grandmother handed me a few things when she was on death bed. Of course no male member of family knows of it. Please excuse me; I’ll be back in a minute.” When she returned, she had something bundled in plain white cotton sheet. She blushed as she delicately spread open the bundle on the tea table.

 That explained why Harry’s scar would hurt so much – Quirrell had Voldemort stuck at the back of his head, didn’t he? But, somehow, for Harry, the pain didn’t seem to be originating from the memory; it was so real, so physical. It only meant one thing – Voldemort was near, very near indeed.

 “In that case,” Scrimgeour added gravely, “Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley will be treated as co-conspirators and I am afraid, Dementor Kiss will be performed on them along with Snape.”

Ron had gone very white but did not utter a word.
Hermione saw McGonagall and Lupin open their mouths in protest. She held the table so tightly that her knuckles whitened. “Better face a Dementor than watch memories of Harry humiliated or his dignity compromised,” she spoke through dry lips, yet with a determined voice.

 “You know, Hermione, you did the very thing which Voldemort lacked and disliked the most – to love, to be loved and to express your love. Because love is the power he knew not. His assault faltered and I gained enough control to talk with you people.”