Chapter Two: The Thief


When Hermione woke up the next morning, Draco was already up. She spied him sitting in the kitchenette from her bunk, a cup of water in his hands. Harry wasn't in his bunk, but Ron was still dead asleep and sprawled over his thin mattress. His mouth hung open.

"He snores," Draco said, having noticed she was awake. He jerked his chin towards Ron, and then offered her a tired smile. She smiled back. The tent was cold.

"I should have warned you." She rubbed at her face, forcing down a yawn. "How did you sleep?"

He shook his head slightly, holding his cup up to his lips. "Well enough."

She frowned, but before she could ask anything Harry emerged from the bathroom.

"You're up," he said, following Draco's gaze to see Hermione sitting up in her bunk.

"What time is it?"

"About eleven in the afternoon," he said, glancing at his watch. "I just woke up, too. I don't know how long you've been up," he said, looking at Draco.

"Not too long," Draco replied. Hermione knew he was lying.

The sound of a stomach growling cut through the air.

"I'm hungry," Harry said. "I'll warm up some soup for us all."

Draco went into the bathroom next, and Hermione finally climbed down from her bunk, wrapping her arms around herself, shivering slightly. She went to the kitchenette to help Harry gather the bowls and spoons as he looked at all the cans.

"Any requests?" He asked.

Hermione stared at the numerous cans stacked on top of each other. A vague sense of foreboding wrapped around her.

"Anything will do," she said.

By the time the soup was ready, Ron had woken up, roused by the scent of the chicken soup warming over the little stove, lit by Harry's wand.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked as he limped to the small table.

"Better." He hugged her with one arm before dropping into his seat. "Loads better."

Draco exited the bathroom then and approached the table. Harry was dividing the soup between four bowls.

"Sleep well, Malfoy?" Ron asked. Hermione looked at him a little suspiciously, wondering if he really cared.

"I never was fond of sleepovers," Draco said, sitting down beside Hermione. Harry was passing out the bowls. He accepted his with a grateful nod.

Ron immediately began to eat when he had received his, hissing as it burned his tongue, but continuing anyway.

Hermione and Harry stirred theirs, smiling as Ron paused in between serving himself spoonfuls of soup to swear and take a large gulp of water from his cup.

"Ah, fuck, that's hot—"

"Slow down, then!"

Ron only shook his head, wincing. Draco tried to hold back a laugh, oddly reminded of Crabbe and Goyle, though he wouldn't say it aloud, as he suspected Weasley would not take kindly to the comparison.


After their meal, they all settled in different corners of the tent to think. Draco and Harry were restless, sometimes pacing, or in Harry's case, tossing the Snitch back and forth between his hands absently, lost in deep thought.

Hermione had finally dug out the children's books bequeathed to her by Dumbledore, and was currently reading them, her analytical mind in overdrive, searching for some clue.

She had never been much for fairytales, even as a child. Her parents had tried briefly, to engage her with stories of talking animals and genies and monsters. She had only accepted two of those to be true: magic, and monsters. Monsters simply because every child believes in monsters, and magic, because even logic couldn't completely explain away the things that happened to her, before she had known what she really was.

Some of these stories were dreadfully dull. She could barely read through them with a straight face. Every time she caught herself about to sigh with impatience, she stopped herself.

Dumbledore had to have a reason to trust it to you.

So she read on, examining every page for any annotations or underlinings of sentences. Anything. So far, she had found nothing.

Most of the morning and early afternoon had gone this way. Ron had dug out his Deluminator, and clicked it open and shut absently, unaware of Hermione needing the light to read. It was sunny outside, but with the limited access the sun got to the inside of the tent, it was rather dim without the light and after the third time the lamps guttered into darkness, Hermione marked where she left off with a finger and cleared her throat.

"I'm reading, Ronald," she said, fighting to keep the sharpness from her tone.

"Oh." There was another click, and the light returned. "Sorry. I didn't know."

"Thank you."

After a moment Ron got up to stretch, and limped to the kitchen to sit heavily down into the softest armchair by the fire.

Harry, meanwhile, had fumbled the Snitch. It plunged for the floor, but he caught it with seconds to spare.

"You said you think he probably went after the locket," Draco said to Harry for the third time that day.

"Yes."

"What makes you think that?"

Harry hesitated, his eyes cobwebbed with the memory he'd seen in the Pensieve.

"Just…the look in Riddle's eyes. It was beyond seeing it." He looked away from them. "Even though I was only seeing it through someone else's memory, it was like I could almost feel how badly he wanted it. And that he would have it, no matter what."

A shiver trickled down Hermione's spine. She scratched at her shoulder.

"So he got it, then." Draco said. "You said the memory showed you it was stolen two days later and the elf was framed for it."

"He definitely got it," Harry agreed. "But I don't know where it is now. It was supposed to have been inside that cave." He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Instead, we found that fake."

"Where is it now?" Ron asked.

"I've got it," Hermione said, rummaging in her purse as Draco watched curiously.

When she finally procured it, she handed it to Harry, who opened it, a tight set to his mouth as he reread the note inside.

"So why's this locket so important, then?" Draco asked. "Why did Vol—why did the Dark Lord want it so badly?"

"He found out he was descended from Salazar Slytherin," Harry said. "He tracked down his relatives and killed them. They were direct descendants, living in poverty. The only thing they had of value was that locket. It had belonged to Slytherin at some point. Riddle's mother had stolen it to sell for money before she had him. Riddle was working at Borgin and Burke's and found out who had the locket then and stole it from her. He believed it was rightfully his, so he was justified in killing her for it."

"Fucking hell."

Draco rubbed his hands over his face and then planted his elbows on his knees, looking haggard. Harry, Hermione, and Ron watched him carefully.

"Calling him by his surname makes him sound human," he said. "It's odd."

Hermione placed her hand on Draco's shoulder and squeezed softly. Harry and Ron could only stare.

"He was never human, mate," Ron said, shaking his head.

Harry handed him the locket and the note. Draco read it carefully, frowning.

"Where do we even begin to look for the real one?" He asked.

"This is just a stab in the dark, but I reckon an 'Accio' wouldn't work," Ron said, trying to grin.

"Accio is only effective when used within a certain range," Hermione said. "It would be a long-shot. But we could still try."

Ron raised his wand and muttered an 'Accio'.

Nothing happened. He shrugged and put his wand away.

"Worth a try."

"Couldn't we take this to a specialist?" Draco asked, putting the note back into the locket and clasping it shut. The engraved serpent on it felt cool under his touch. He offered it back to Potter. "Maybe they'll know where Regulus had it made."

"It's more likely he used a Replicating spell," Harry said, accepting the locket from Malfoy. He turned it over in his hands, a distant look in his eye. "Plus, if word of this locket being shown around gets to the wrong ears, we'll be in danger."

Hermione felt a dart of sympathy run through her. He was probably still stuck in that cave in his mind, watching Dumbledore begin to die, weakened by that cursed water.

"Wouldn't Kreacher know something about it?" Hermione asked suddenly. "He was there with Regulus in that cave. Maybe he knows where it might be now."

Harry and Ron froze. Draco, not knowing what was happening, raised his brows.

"Kreacher," Ron breathed. "I can't believe we forgot about him, that sneaky git."

"Who?" Draco asked, frowning.

"Sirius's house-elf," Harry explained, a new gleam in his eye. "He was Regulus's before that. He was with Regulus when he replaced the locket. I can't believe we forgot, thanks Hermione."

"To be fair, there's been a lot going on," she said. "I only just remembered him now, too. It's been a while since any of us has seen him."

"Should we get going, then?" Ron asked, standing from his chair with a wobble.

"No," Harry said, and they turned to look at him, confused. "Not tonight."

"Why?"

"We need to get to Diagon Alley, or Hogsmeade, someplace to find an owlery," Harry said. "We'll go in disguise, or wait until there's no one there to see us, so we can send a letter—" He was cut off by Hermione raising her palm, gesturing for him to stop. She dug into her purse again, into one of its smaller pockets, and withdrew a Galleon.

"Er—what are you doing?" Harry asked.

Hermione smiled. "Saving you time."

She concentrated on the Galleon, willing out a message to be transmitted down to its receptive twin, which was in Ginny's possession.

When she was done she took it to Harry and showed him the message.

Is everyone safe? We need to know if Grimmauld Place is empty.

Harry squeezed her arm gently in thanks, and nodded. Hermione sent the message.

She had been prepared to wait for a response, but it pinged in her pocket no less than a minute later. The others waited tensely, to hear Ginny's response.

Everyone's alright. Don't come to Burrow. Go to Grimmauld Place. Empty now. Tonks will keep secret.

She looked at the others.

"It's empty. Let's go."


"Why didn't you tell me you could have reached them through that thing all this time?" Ron asked the second they'd stepped foot inside Grimmauld Place. They'd had to go through the back entrance, left unlocked by Tonks, who though she had wanted to, could not greet them there, seeing as she'd been called away by Moody not two minutes after Apparating in Ginny and Pansy.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "I forgot. So much was happening, it wasn't until Harry started talking about owls that I remembered."

Her bag was also crammed so full with food and survival items that she'd even forgotten it had been in that tiny little pocket. Add to that the panic of what had happened at the wedding, and then healing Ron's foot…

"Well, thank Merlin you had it," Ron said, and the sound of quick steps made them all face the kitchen doorway, where Ginny and Pansy were hurrying through, their faces tight with worry and relief.

Ginny was the first to reach them—she launched herself into Ron and Harry's arms, nearly knocking them over. Pansy did the same, flinging herself at Hermione and Draco, who held her tightly. Somehow, they all ended up converging into one massive group, arms everywhere.

They were a family, Hermione realized, her eyes growing wet behind her eyelids. They fought and bickered and snapped at each other, but they took care of each other. She felt Draco at her side, one arm around her, the other around Pansy, and felt relief.

"Thank Merlin you're alright," Ginny muttered, as they all finally broke apart. "We were so worried."

"We were, too," Ron said. "I wanted to come back."

"No," Pansy said, aghast. "The Death Eaters tore through the place. It felt like forever. We only just managed to finish cleaning it all back up."

"We'd run them out of one part of the house and come downstairs and there'd be another bunch of them ripping things apart, like they were looking for something." Ginny said, and shook her head, sighing. "Someone set a fire in the wedding tent, too, but we put it out."

"How are Bill and Fleur?" Ron asked quickly.

"Fine. They're at their cottage. The Death Eaters can't get to them there. Mum and Dad went to visit them just now, to make sure."

"Was anyone hurt?" Harry asked.

"They really tried," Pansy said. "But no one was severely hurt. McGonagall came and and she's terrifying when she's that angry. If you've seen her mad before, magnify that by a hundred."

Ginny nodded, shuddering.

"Once they were out, the Order put the wards back up. We're still not sure how they were able to get through in the first place. Dad says someone sold us out. We're still trying to figure out who. I think he knows, but he isn't telling."

"Who could it have been?" Hermione asked, secretly furious that someone had betrayed them.

"We think we figured it out," Pansy said gravely. "Mundungus Fletcher was supposed to be at the wedding. He was supposed to meet with the Order beforehand, to coordinate. He didn't show up then, and he hasn't shown up since."

"And Dad refuses to speak of him," Ginny added.

Ron's lips curled in a snarl. "Next time I see him, I'll tear him apart."

"You and me both," Harry muttered.

They assembled in the room Harry and Ron had previously been occupying.

"What did you lot do?" Pansy asked.

"We went to a forest to hide out," Hermione said. "We didn't know where else to go. We wanted to go here originally, but we thought it had been occupied."

"No trouble on that front," came a voice from the doorway, and they all whirled around. Tonks was leaning against the doorframe. "You're going to have to make this visit quick," she said, looking at Ginny and Ron. "I just came from Bill and Fleur's. Your parents are making their goodbyes."

"Damn," Ginny said, scowling. "How long, and what happened with Moody?"

"Taken care of. You've got about five minutes, I'd wager," Tonks said, glancing at her watch. She looked at Draco and the others. "They were upset when they realized you were all missing."

Ginny snorted. "Upset doesn't begin to cover it. I haven't seen Mum that upset, since, well—since Percy."

Ron flinched.

Tonks winced in sympathy. "Well, this place should be safe to use for the time being. We renewed the wards and moved the Order out this morning. It should be safe for you, for now."

"How long will you be staying there?" Ginny asked.

"As long as we can," Harry said. "Which, with our luck, means not long."

"But probably just as long as we need," Hermione said.

Draco blinked, bemused.

Ron was rubbing behind his neck. "None of you've happened to find some toes lying around, have you?"

Pansy, Tonks, and Ginny stared at him.

"What?"

"I guess not," he muttered. "Had sort of a splinching accident, you see." He wiggled his foot at them.

"Oh, Merlin," Pansy muttered. "How many did you lose? And where do you think they are?"

"Two, exactly. Most likely out in the backyard."

"Two minutes," Tonks said in warning.

"I guess there isn't time to look," Ron said glumly.

"Even if we found them, Ron, I don't think we'd be able to reattach them," Hermione said, rubbing his arm.

"I just hate to think of them out there, all alone," Ron said, trying to sound serious, but he was trying not to laugh. Even Draco cracked a smile.

Tonks was tapping her watch. They all got up.

"Keep your coin close at all times, in case we need to contact each other," Hermione said as she hugged Ginny and Pansy together. They nodded. "Come visit us, if you can get away."

"Stay safe," Ginny whispered. She let her go and went to hug Ron and Harry next, and patted Draco awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Don't do anything stupid," she said half-jokingly, raising her brows.

Draco smiled thinly. "I won't."

They saw them to the door. Tonks Apparated them away on the front stoop. Hermione took a step forward away from the front door. The wood creaked underneath her. The massive portrait of Mrs. Black was curtained and dusty, but most importantly, silent. Tonks Apparated back within a few minutes and knocked on the door, as she couldn't Apparate within the house. They let her in, and she led them all carefully around the portrait and into the kitchen. Draco stared after the portrait curiously, wondering why they were treating it so carefully. He supposed it was a question for another time. He'd already been to Grimmauld Place before, but didn't remember coming by this part of the house. He had, in fact, but he had been unconscious at the time, and had spent the rest of his stay there by the back of the house on a higher floor.

"I'll send word through Pansy and Ginny if anyone's heading this way," Tonks said, setting her elbows on the counter and leaning forward. "Ring if you need anything. There's still food here, in the pantry, but not much. Keep an eye out for Kreacher. He's been sulking in his quarters for weeks because Mundungus came through again taking stuff to sell on the street. We thought he'd died but Remus found him sobbing in the pantry a few days ago."

"Is that why I haven't seen that little bugger around?" Ron asked. "I thought he'd died, too."

"Kreacher comes and goes as he pleases, now that Sirius is gone and Harry hasn't been around," Tonks said. "And when I say go, the only place he ever goes to is his room. Just hides himself in there for days."

"Is this why I've never seen him before?" Draco asked. Potter nodded.

"You're lucky, too," Ron added. "He's a cantankerous little shit." He shrugged one shoulder. "He'd probably love you, though, considering your family background an all."

Draco frowned.

"You haven't met Mrs. Black, either," Hermione said. "She's a delight, too."

Draco looked at her questioningly.

"Sirius's mother," Potter explained. "She's a blood purity fanatic." His lip lifted at the corner. "She hates us three. I'll warn you now, don't make too many loud noises or she'll start shouting. She does that a lot. Her curtains come flying off and it's a bother to get her to settle down again."

"She probably wouldn't yell if she saw you, though." Ron added.

"Why didn't anyone tell me any of this before?" Draco asked, glancing uneasily at the corridor.

"Well, you were only here for a few days," Hermione offered after a short pause. "You were in your room for most of that time, and, well, you didn't have much reason to be going by the exit…"

Draco stood still. "That's true, I suppose."

Tonks patted them all on the back as she walked past them to get to the door.

"Kreacher won't be happy to find he hasn't got the house to himself. Try not to let him know what you're up to, or at least order him to not go about spilling your secrets. He's yours now, Harry—he'll have to listen to you."

When she had left, Harry immediately went for the stairs to the cellar.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked.

"I need to see Kreacher."

They hurried to join him, and crept down the stairs in the dark, wands held aloft, glowing with the power of their Lumos.

The cellar was damp and cold, with covered dusty old furniture pushed up against the wall. An enormous, ancient carpet took up the whole floor, so faded and covered in grime and dust that in the weak light they could see the dust rise and float around with every footstep. Boxes of all sizes lay strewn about, filled past their brims with all sorts of antiques and other assorted rubbish. Musty old sheets had been thrown over some of the pile to cover it. The rest was still let out a low whistle. The smell of mold was almost overbearing. It was nowhere near as messy, but it gave Draco a stark reminder of the Room of Requirement. He shuddered.

"That looks familiar," Weasley was saying, squinting at an uncovered box, where a large broken mantle clock was poking out from. He leaned in for a closer look, and let out a huff of a laugh. "Blimey. I reckon it's the same one. See the scratch marks on the paint? Remember how it tried to strangle me, Harry?"

"Shit," Potter replied, as he leaned in. "You're right. Don't go any closer."

Draco immediately turned to Hermione, his raised brow requesting explanation.

"A few years ago, we went through most of the clutter in this place and tried to clear out some space," she began, fanning away a plume of dust. "We found out too late that most of those objects were cursed."

Hermione pointed to an old brass goblet that glinted dully through its blanket of dust.

"That one's got some sort of tongue-locker curse on it. I couldn't talk right for days, even when Lupin did the counter curse."

Weasley nodded, frowning. "And it looks like Kreacher fished it out of the bins and has been holding onto it since."

"He sounds lovely," Draco said, taking a discrete step from the pathway, where the nearest box was perilously close to touching his robe.

"Oh, you'll see," Potter said, and taking one final displeased look at the mess, and continuing on to the only door in sight—there was a sliver of light underneath the bottom, indicating someone was inside.

The rest of them followed hesitantly, waiting with bated breath as Potter knocked on the door.

"Kreacher," he called through the door. "I've got to talk to you."

There was a long silence from the other side of the door. They waited impatiently.

"Maybe he's not there," Hermione suggested.

"Just go in and see," Ron said.

Harry shook his head, and knocked again.

"Kreacher," he said, and his voice was harder this time. "Come out and talk to me, please."

A full minute passed with no response. Ron sighed.

The door creaked open, and Kreacher stepped outside, shutting the door quickly behind him before they had a chance to see inside properly.

He looked exactly as unpleasant as he had been when they had seen him last, if not perhaps smelling a little fouler.

He bowed stiffly

"Master wishes to speak with Kreacher," he croaked, and before Harry could even respond, Kreacher's eyes had landed on Draco and widened into mini-moons nearly bulging out of his head. Draco stared back awkwardly.

Ignoring Harry completely now, Kreacher scuttled to stand before Draco now, and bowed.

"Young Draco, son of Lord Malfoy," he said, and it was disturbing how… reverent his voice had become in an instant. "Kreacher did not know you was in the House of Black. If Kreacher had known, Kreacher would have cleaned, would have cooked to welcome the son of Mistress Narcissa, whom Kreacher remembers so fondly." He bowed again, and Draco remembered with a start that his mother indeed must have known Kreacher, that he must have been one of many House elves whom had waited on her and Tonks when they had visited when they were young.

"You've met before?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "Never."

"Then how does he recognize you?" Weasley asked.

"I imagine the strong resemblance to my parents might be a clue," Draco replied drily, pointing to his hair.

"Young Draco looks so much like his father, Kreacher thought he had gone back in time, to when Lucius Malfoy was engaged to Mistress Narcissa," Kreacher confirmed, nodding emphatically.

Draco's face went grim, and Hermione touched his arm discretely.

"Kreacher," Harry said, and the House Elf turned, looking cross, to face him. "We're looking for Mundungus Fletcher. Have you seen—"

Kreacher made a loud sound of disgust, his thin, bony body curling into itself, his eyes darting around suspiciously.

"Kreacher does not like that name," Kreacher muttered in a low growl. "Kreacher does not like that man." He hurried to the piles of boxes and checked them nervously, snapping his fingers to magically procure an old sheet and threw it over an uncovered chest. He threw an angry, suspicious glance at them from over his shoulder.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

He began to mutter, his voice full of resentment.

"That dirty, smelly, thieving man comes into this ancient and noble house and takes." Kreacher spat on the ground, his voice going lower and lower until it was entirely guttural. Hermione repressed a shudder. "Takes, and takes, and sells on the street what does not belong to him. He is good at thieving. Kreacher did not know for months. But Mistress Black's lace gloves were gone, and Kreacher sees Mundungus Fletcher in Knockturn Alley selling them for two sickles, when they was made custom for my Mistress, and cost ten galleons. Kreacher took them, and he hid them, but the thief still comes to take, and Kreacher tries to stop him."

Harry was frowning. "How much has he taken, Kreacher?"

"Many things—things that belong to Kreacher, and that belonged to his family." The House-Elf turned away from the boxes to face them again, his eyes glaring and hurt, staring at them shrewdly. "And now Kreacher thinks Potter and the Mudblood and the blood-traitor are here to take more of it." His eyes were glassy with tears of anger. "And Kreacher will not like it, no he won't, but Kreacher cannot say no to his new Master."

He was looking at Malfoy, and Harry knew he was wishing that he was his Master instead. Despite their tenuous history, Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for Kreacher.

He glanced at Ron and Hermione, knowing they felt it, too. Malfoy was harder to read, but Harry could feel his discomfort.

"We're not here to take anything away," he told Kreacher. "Keep it all. Do what you like with it, I don't care. I just had some questions for you."

Kreacher cocked his head at an angle, his old, hairy ears shifting. He stared harder at Harry, his great black eyes like polished glass beads.

"What is it Master wants?" He asked slowly.

"First—I don't want you calling my friends anything other than their names," Harry said.

Kreacher considered it for a moment, and then bowed.

"Kreacher will obey."

To their relief and shock, he didn't mutter rude things to himself.

"When we cleaned this place years ago, there was a locket," Harry began, and Kreacher froze. "It was silver, and had a serpent on it. We thought it was worthless and threw it away. But you kept it, didn't you?"

Kreacher nodded slowly. "Why is Master Potter looking for this locket?"

"We know," Harry said. "We know what it is. We know where you got it from, and how, and who you were with. We know about what you did." He pulled the fake locket from his pocket and showed it to Kreacher, who looked shellshocked.

He wavered where he stood, as if a ripple had gone through the room.

"Master Potter knows nothing," he croaked, blinking, not looking any of them in the eye.

"Kreacher," Harry said, more gently. "We know about the Horcruxes. We know Regulus switched out the locket with a fake." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the fake locket. Kreacher's eyes reluctantly landed on it. He began to shake.

"How did Master get that?" He asked, his posture so stiff and yet bent that it seemed like he was being pulled apart from two different directions. Hermione stepped forward, wanting to console him, but he edged away from her quickly.

"I went to that cave," Harry said. "I found it there. I thought you might know where the real locket is."

Kreacher swallowed.

"Kreacher doesn't know," he said hoarsely.

"Are you sure?" Ron asked.

"Kreacher does not know!" The House Elf shrieked, pulling his ears down over his eyes, as if not wanting to hear any more. "Kreacher was glad to never see the cursed necklace again! Kreacher was glad to leave the fake in that cave, after the Dark Lord hurt his Master Regulus, Kreacher hoped never to see it again so he hides the real one for many years, and it gets lost."

Harry and Ron exchanged a grim look.

"Where did you hide it?" Hermione asked. "Do you remember?"

"Kreacher hid it in a jewelry box that once held his Mistress's things," Kreacher said, shaking his head, still covering his eyes with his ears. "And he took care of it and made sure no one came near. And the necklace would not have been lost if Master Sirius did not decide to clean the house."

"So that was it, then," Ron said, almost in disgust.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Harry asked.

"Master Sirius knew cleaning the house and throwing things away makes Kreacher angry and upset," Kreacher said bitterly. "He forbid Kreacher from interfering. Kreacher hoped the locket would not be touched. Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to keep it hidden, and Kreacher failed."

"Could've chosen a better hiding place," Ron muttered. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. He shot her a look.

"You brought it back, though, didn't you?" Harry asked intently. He gestured to the boxes piled high. "Like all this stuff."

Kreacher nodded, a trace of pride in his countenance.

"Kreacher will not fail his Master Regulus twice," he said. "Kreacher went through the things meant to be thrown away, against Master Sirius's orders. Kreacher punished himself by slamming a door closed on his fingers, but he took the locket back and put it here with the other things he managed to save."

He went to a stack of boxes and fussed over them, wiping the dust off, making sure they were not missing anything.

"Then where is it now, Kreacher?" Harry asked. "We need it."

Kreacher didn't turn back to them. His shoulders had hunched.

"The thief comes, and takes it," he said, his old, croaking voice like gravel. "He takes it, when Kreacher is unaware. Kreacher went to him when he discovered it missing, but it was too late. Fletcher, stinking of drink, admits he sold it. He didn't remember who."

Hermione clutched Harry's arm. Kreacher was crying.

"Kreacher failed his Master twice, even when he tried to fix it," Kreacher said miserably. "And his Master Regulus died for nothing." He began to beat his bony fists against his temples. "Bad Kreacher, bad Kreacher, bad Kreacher!"

"Don't!" Hermione cried. "Oh, Kreacher, don't! It wasn't your fault!"

Kreacher was past listening. He continued to strike himself in the head, muttering rapidly in self-hatred, and Hermione feared he would knock himself unconscious.

"Kreacher, stop," Harry ordered.

The House Elf froze, fists halting a mere inch from his skull. He had torn at his skin somehow, along what might have been his hairline, if he had any hair. Blood welled there, thick and bright, preparing to dribble downward.

"Hermione's right," Harry said. "It wasn't your fault. You did what you could. I'm sure Regulus would have been proud of you."

Kreacher gaped at him, his wrinkled, watery eyes wide in disbelief, which went wider still as Harry approached him and crouched low on the ground so that he matched Kreacher's height.

"I need to know where Fletcher is," he said urgently. "Where can I find him?"

Kreacher said nothing for a moment. Hermione was shocked to see a glimmer of respect in Kreacher's eye as he looked at who he had previously considered a disappointment of a Master.

"The stinking thief sells his stolen things in Knockturn Alley," he said at last. "In the darkened alleyways by the canal. He is not always there. Kreacher does not know where he lives. The thief hides in many places."

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said. He pushed the locket toward the House Elf, who froze again. "You can keep this."

"Kreacher does not want it," he said. Hermione could see the trauma in his eyes when he looked at it. No doubt he was revisiting that night in the cave, when his beloved Regulus had put his own life in risk to thwart Voldemort. But he hesitated.

"You don't have to take it if you don't want to," Harry said.

Kreacher reached out for it, and Harry dropped it into his palm. Despite it being a fake, it was still heavy.

"Kreacher will hide this one, too," he said. "Kreacher does not want to see it."

The moment was broken by a loud growl coming from Ron's stomach. They all looked at him. He placed a hand on his stomach, chagrined.

"Sorry."

Draco wanted to laugh.

"Let's go," Harry said, and started for the stairs.

Kreacher stood there, still clutching the locket in both hands, a struggle in his mind.

They had nearly reached the top of the stairs when they heard Kreacher scrambling up after them.

"What will Master Potter like for dinner?" He asked, slightly out of breath.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione blinked. Judging by their expressions, Draco surmised that this was highly unusual behavior for the Elf.

"Er, sorry?" Harry asked.

"Kreacher can start with soup," the House Elf said, "and then make stew, or whatever Master Potter fancies. But he will be needing to visit the market."

"Oh—" Harry had gone slightly red, unused to being waited on. "Soup and stew sounds fine. Thanks."

Kreacher nodded eagerly, and another wave of shock rippled over them.

"Someone tell me what just happened," Ron said, after Kreacher had Apparated away (presumably to the market) and they were clustered around the kitchen table, nearly at a loss for words.

"He's gone soft, apparently, judging by the looks on your faces," Draco said. "The way you looked, Potter, I almost thought he'd never waited on you before."

"That's the thing," Hermione said. "He hasn't. He hated Harry, and us, too, before today. He'd say awful things under his breath and wouldn't listen to Harry without throwing a tantrum first. That's what we were expecting today."

Draco leaned back on his heels. "Wow."

"I'm still reeling, myself," Harry said.

"I reckon it was because you gave him the fake," Ron said, crossing his arms. "That, and what you said about Regulus being proud of him anyway. Poor little bugger probably hasn't had a word of praise aimed at him in years. I guess that was all it took."

Hermione looked doubtful.

"Well, either way," Harry said, sitting down at the table. "We know what he have to do next. That's a start. It's a stretch, thinking that we'll find the locket easily, but it's a start."

Draco nodded, relieved.

"Well how are we going to get into Knockturn Alley?" Ron asked, yawning.

"Polyjuice," Hermione said.

Draco raised a brow.

"Where are we going to get that from?"

"We're not getting it from anyplace. Too dangerous. I'm going to make it," she said, a gleam in her eye.

At Draco's look of surprise, Harry grinned.

"I've had practice, after all." She was grinning now.

"And by practice, you mean…." Draco prompted.

"Remember in Second year, when the Basilisk was running around petrifying people left and right?" Ron asked. Draco nodded. "Well, Harry and I were sure it was you, and that you were the Heir of Slytherin. So sure, in fact, that we decided we had to find out at any cost. So we stole from Snape's ingredients stores and brewed our own Polyjuice Potion."

"There was a brief period where I was absent from classes," Hermione said. "I'm not sure you remember, as I told everyone I was sick. But the truth was, we had tried to impersonate Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent Bullstrode. Except instead of using Millicent's hair, I accidentally used some of her cat's hair."

"Oh, Merlin," Draco muttered, and laughed. "Only you could make a Polyjuice Potion at twelve years old."

She blushed, smiling. "I may have turned myself into a cat, but at least it still worked."

"And what about you two?" Draco asked Harry and Ron.

"Well, it worked for us," Ron said. "We turned into Crabbe and Goyle and talked to you for a bit in your Common Room. This is off topic, but how the hell is yours fancier than ours?"

"I had nothing to do with it," Draco replied, frowning. "So you talked to me, then. What did you find out?"

"Nothing, aside from the fact that you really wanted Hermione to be the next victim," Ron said, cocking a brow at Draco. Hermione gave him a look, and he relented. "I almost socked you in the eye for that. But we didn't get anything important out of that except for the knowledge that you weren't the Heir."

"And then we started turning back into ourselves, so we had to run like hell," Harry added, grinning.

Draco frowned more deeply. "Fuck, I do remember that. I'd wondered what the hell was up with those two, but only for a second. That could take all day."

Ron grinned. "I think I'm starting to like you, Malfoy. Never thought I'd hear myself say that, but it's true. You're funny when you're not being a prick."

"High praise," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Thanks."

Though he had said that with a sarcastic infliction, inwardly, he felt a rush of pleasure roll over him. That was unexpected. He hadn't thought Weasley's acceptance was something that would ever make him chuffed, even if it was on a small scale. But it was strange. He had sensed it from the start. By intertwining himself with Hermione, he was butting into a small, close family that was as established as his own. He was the stranger. He was the new addition that they had too tread carefully around, trying to feel him out. It was strange, and unpleasant, sometimes, but it was worth it, if he got to feel like this, with the hope that he might one day truly be a part of it, too.

There was another thought he'd never thought he'd have. It made him pause.

Look how things are now. Is this what you really want? He asked himself.

The fear was still there—fear that somehow, he would fuck it all up. Fear that they were only messing with him, secretly taunting him behind his back, secretly still hating him and waiting for the right moment to pull out the knife and stick it through him.

But there was also a certainty that he hadn't felt in a while, like a little root inside him that curled hopefully upwards at the thought of doing something that mattered, not something that hurt or destroyed, and building a better future for himself along the way.

Don't get ahead of yourself, the voice popped back up. You've only just begun.

A/N:

Sorry for the long wait! I've been busy but trying to chip away at this over time. Please review and let me know what you think.