NASTY CREATURES
Disclaimer: This sequel to "Who Lives in Disguise" is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.
Warning: HBP-spoilers. Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.
Sorry for the long delay. The story till now:
Immediately following HBP, Snape and Voldemort plot how to turn Draco into a double-agent replacement for Snape. With Voldemort as Bonder, Draco makes a reciprocal Unbreakable Vow to protect Snape and aid him in serving his "true master". Snape subsequently makes contact with Hermione and asks whether she trusts him enough to continue with her assigned task to be his link to an unaware Harry. After some doubt, she consents and they discuss, among other things, Horcruxes.
"Didn't Sirius tell us his brother was a Death Eater?" Hermione asked next morning at breakfast, which they ate in the interval between Mr Dursley going to work and Dudley getting up, while Mrs Dursley dusted the mantelpiece and turned out the living room. It was their one cooked meal of the day as Mrs Dursley wouldn't let them in her kitchen after that. Lunch and dinner would be sandwiches again.
Harry looked up from his bowl of cereal.
"Yeah, I think so. He said he didn't get very far in and when he tried to get out he got killed. Why?"
"Maybe he got in further than Sirius knew. His name was Regulus wasn't it? And if his middle name began with A –"
Both boys stared at her.
"You know, that just might be right. You're brilliant!" said Ron, pointing his fork at her. A splodge of scrambled egg fell off the end of it, leaving a smear of bacon grease on the table. He ate what was left and forked another helping.
She blushed. If they knew where that idea came from!
"So you think we should go along to headquarters and check it out?" Harry said, swallowing his mouthful and dipping his spoon for another. "I suppose it would be on the tapestry, wouldn't it?"
Hermione cut a small strip of bacon into tiny pieces.
"I expect so, but we can find out quicker than that. Kreacher must know what it was. And if it was Regulus that took it, he might even know where he put it," she said.
"Thought you didn't like me bossing house-elves around," Harry objected.
"I still don't, but it would be silly not to ask. If anyone knows what was in Sirius's house before we started cleaning it, it would be him."
"Probably something we threw out," Ron said gloomily, chewing, swallowing, then shovelling in another mouthful and chewing again. Hermione averted her eyes. "Or that Dung stole. It was gold, that Horc – You-Know-What, wasn't it?"
"Something we threw out?" Harry mused. His eyes widened and he put down his spoon. "Or something we didn't! Remember those glass-fronted cabinets with all the bits and bobs? There was a locket, wasn't there? We tried to open it and couldn't. I don't think that went into the sack with the junk."
"Course it did," Ron said, his fork pausing on the way to his mouth. "Sirius chucked a silver snuffbox and a gold ring. Why would he keep a locket no one could open?"
They stared at each other in sickened disappointment.
"Don't say we had one in our hands and threw it away!" Hermione implored. "Life couldn't be that cruel!"
It wasn't till Harry winced and Ron scowled at her that she realised what she'd said.
Oh, couldn't it? And Harry hadn't been orphaned by a nutter and brought up by magic-hating Muggles in this very house, had he? He hadn't watched first Cedric, then Sirius, then Dumbledore die in front of him in the last three years.
Kreacher, answering Harry's summons a moment late, turned out to know more than they'd expected. Not only did he confirm that R.A.B. had been Regulus all right, he himself had helped retrieve the Horcrux by drinking the liquid that protected it.
Ron said what they were all thinking.
"Well, that explains a lot."
"But where is it now?" Harry insisted and the house-elf had no choice but to tell him. He'd rescued it from the rubbish sack, along with as many family heirlooms as he could fit under the sink where he kept his treasures, and it was still there.
"I suppose it's safer here than there, now that he knows we want it," Hermione mused, after the elf had been dispatched, with instructions as airtight as Harry could make them, to fetch everything in his hoard immediately and to tell no one ever. She began to stack the plates. "But we still don't know how to destroy it. I wonder if headquarters has any books on Horcruxes."
Presumably Regulus had found out about them somewhere and it wouldn't have been at school, not if Dumbledore had banned the subject as soon as he became headmaster.
"Books!" Ron scoffed. "Harry didn't need books to destroy the diary. He just stabbed it with a Basilisk fang and bingo!"
"He almost died." She eyed the debris of their breakfast, three spilled flakes, a few smears of grease and a couple of spoonfuls of egg congealing in the pan, and wished she'd stuck to cereal, like Harry.
"Yes, but that was from the Basilisk, not the diary," Harry pointed out. "And it was coincidence that the Basilisk was anywhere near me."
"Well the diary was probably the first one he made," Hermione said. "It wouldn't have been as well protected as the ones that came after. Dumbledore almost died when he disabled the ring Horcrux –"
"Dumbledore wasn't the one in the prophecy; Harry is."
"– And he never recovered the use of his hand! Do you want to risk that for Harry?"
"You know, Ron just might be right," Harry said thoughtfully. "Maybe that's what 'power to vanquish' means. Otherwise it would be pretty strange of Dumbledore not to tell me how he did it and what to avoid."
"Don't be silly," Hermione breathed. "You could die, Harry, and we still have to find the other two and kill Nagini and Voldemort!"
"It's not silly!" Ron said. "We all handled the locket perfectly safely the day we first saw it. There's no reason to expect we can't again."
Crack!
Kreacher appeared with a nasty smirk and an armful of dirty sack.
Plop! Tinkle, skitter …
The sack opened, spilling out maggots and spiders and tarnished heirlooms over the immaculate floor, just as Harry's aunt came back into the kitchen. Ron recoiled and Mrs Dursley shrieked.
"Get that nasty creature out of my house immediately! How dare you! Disgusting little beast pouring filth all over my kitchen!"
Kreacher snickered.
"The nasty Mudblood filth deserves to live in a sty, she does," he muttered. "Home of filth and dirty blood."
"Sorry, Aunt Petunia. I'll take care of it." Harry said automatically and turned on the house-elf. "Kreacher! Clean up the dirt and the bugs this instant, without removing any of the objects I asked for!"
"I warned you not bring any of your freakish tricks here," Mrs Dursley shrilled. "You promised not to, if I let your friends stay!"
That had been just politeness on their part. She'd done her best to keep them away, but when Hermione had pointed out that if they weren't staying there, they'd visit every day and make a point of letting the neighbours see them acting strangely, she'd gritted her teeth, silenced her menfolk and hammered out a schedule that gave unwilling hosts and unwelcome guests the best chance of consistently avoiding each other.
Hermione had been glaring at Kreacher, but she'd promised herself the last time the Dursleys called Harry that name not to let it pass again.
"My parents are both dentists," she said with a steely smile, biting off each word. "I can assure you that the thing they would find most freakish in your house is that you brought Harry up in a cupboard."
"Too right," Ron agreed, gingerly skipping out of the way of a particularly large spider then crushing it under his shoe as it scuttled past. The sight of squashed spider on dust-speckled floor seemed to raise Mrs Dursley to even greater wrath.
"I knew you couldn't be trusted! Just like Lily and that awful boy who used to visit her!" The woman drew herself up and took a deep breath. There was a malicious glitter in her eye that told Hermione she'd been saving something up for an occasion like this. "The one whose face they keep showing us every night on the tele. The one that killed your precious headmaster."
The what? Three mouths gaped open and three pairs of eyes were riveted. Kreacher snickered again.
"Good riddance to filthy blood-traitors," he muttered. "Serves him right for filling my poor mistress's house with Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors and thieves."
Aunt Petunia made a lunge for the frying pan, but Kreacher levitated it higher than her arm could reach. He'd been forbidden to cause harm to any of Harry's friends or family, but that didn't mean he couldn't annoy them.
"Get that – that thing out of my house!" she said, snatching at the pan as it swooped past her and clattered on the floor behind her, splattering her legs with spots of greasy egg. Even Kreacher covered his ragged ears at her screech, but Harry barely flinched.
"Snape? Snape used to visit my mum?" Harry's eyes were blazing. "I don't believe you. He hated her. He's the one that betrayed her."
Hermione bit her lip. If he had, he wasn't the only one. And Pettigrew, they knew, had known whose deaths he was causing. Snape hadn't.
Mrs Dursley paused in her efforts to grab one of those ragged ears that kept winking out from in front of her and reappearing behind.
"That's all you know! Thick as thieves they were, always sneaking off together and having secrets, until she dropped him and took up with your lout of a father instead. So now you know what kind of friends your mother had!" She glared at them all and flounced out, with one parting shot flung over her shoulder. "And you'd better be out of my kitchen in five minutes and leave it clean as a whistle. Dudley's stirring and I want to start his breakfast."
Harry followed her out and they could hear him peppering her with agitated questions. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.
"Right," Hermione said. "You take the sack up to the room. I'll clear the table and wash up. Kreacher, if you say another word, to us or anyone, or do anything but wait out of the way till Harry calls you again, I'll hex your teeth into glue and your hands into jelly."
Kreacher glowered and blew her a raspberry before disappearing. Ron gave the room a wary once-over and the sack an even warier one.
"You don't have to touch it," Hermione offered, levitating the bowls and cutlery to the sink and the crumbs to the bin. "Use Wingardium Leviosa."
"I know," he grumbled. "I'm just wondering if I want this anywhere near the place I sleep."
"You've had the twins near where you sleep most of your life," Hermione pointed out practically. "You're surely not more scared of Kreacher's pranks than theirs."
"They've never killed anyone," he said, then remembered the Peruvian Darkness Powder they'd sold Malfoy. "Leastways, not intentionally."
As soon as Hermione was alone in the kitchen, she fired off a Patronus, 'Got locket; now what?' The answer came as she set her foot on the first step. 'Study.'
"Thanks, Professor," she muttered as the silver scorpion disappeared. "Big help you are! Like I'd need to be told! Study what?" Couldn't he even have suggested what books? But maybe he didn't know.
By the time Harry joined them, she and Ron had sorted through the keepsakes. A pile of Scourgified objects lay on the sack on the floor and a heavy gold locket sat alone on the table, glinting malevolently. He barely glanced at it.
"I don't believe it," he said. "My mother would never have been friends with the greasy git. Never in a million years, even if he hadn't called her a Mudblood!"
Ron was happy to join him in abusing the slimy, greasy git and recalling all the nasty things Sirius had ever said about him and all the times they'd been sneered at. It wasn't till they reached the teeth incident that either of them noticed Hermione's silence.
"What," said Ron, "Not going to defend him this time?"
"I haven't defended him since he killed Dumbledore," Hermione said, not looking up from contemplation of the locket. It had a stylised letter S, which presumably stood for Salazar or Slytherin, although surprisingly it resembled a double-headed lily-stem more than the snake she'd have expected. "You know I haven't."
"But you still haven't said it, have you?" Ron waved a freckled finger at her. "Not straight out."
When Ron smiled like that, she couldn't be mad at him.
"All right, fine. You were right and I was wrong about him." Her hands were loosely fisted in her lap. She crossed her bent fingers where they couldn't see. "Same as Dumbledore."
"You know, Harry," Ron said. "If he was sneaky enough to trick Dumbledore, you can't be surprised he managed to trick your mum. He probably apologised and pretended to be all sorry and that."
"But why did she even listen to him? Why didn't she listen to my dad?"
"Maybe she didn't, at first," Hermione said absently. It wasn't as if the boys had any new insights to offer, even with this startling new information. "But if they were the two top Potions students, maybe they got together because of that."
It had never occurred to her before, but if the professor and Harry's mum had been friends, that might be why Snape had been so nasty to Harry their first lesson, because he'd expected Harry to be a Potions-whizz like her, and he wasn't. She knew better than to suggest it to the boys though and Snape would never tell her. There is no need for you to know and that is enough reason not to tell you.
"But she must have known he was into the Dark Arts!" Harry complained. "Sirius said –"
And they were off again.
It was when Harry capped Ron's story of detention cleaning bedpans for Pomfrey with the time Snape caught him with the Marauder's Map in third year – "What would your head have been doing in Hogsmeade, Potter?" – that the owls came, three of them, dropped three official-looking letters on their heads and zoomed off again.
"They're from the Ministry," said Harry, recognising them first. "You got permission to use magic, though, it shouldn't be that."
"Maybe they're about Hogwarts," said Hermione hopefully, as she picked them up and distributed them. They were addressed individually, one for each. "You know, letting us know whether it's opening again next year."
"Oh, it's about Hogwarts all right," Harry said, looking up, his green eyes huge in his pale face. "They want us to testify at the investigation into Dumbledore's death."
"Blimey, Harry," Ron said. "Do you think they'll try to pin it on you?"
"Sure to. That or blackmail me into being their poster boy."
It probably depends whether it's Umbridge or Scrimgeour at the trial, Hermione thought glumly. Why didn't they arrest that horrid toad of a woman last year instead of taking her back after her rest-cure?
"Well, I don't think we have any choice then," she said. "I know you were worried there might be another spy in the Order, but we can't not talk to them about this."
"She's right, Harry."
Harry crumpled up the parchment and stood up, his face set.
"Tomorrow," he said flatly. "We'll go in the morning when Ron goes for his test and he can join us after. Or you two can go today if you like, just don't leave that –" (his eyes fell on the locket) "out where someone can take it. I'm going for a walk. I need to think."
"You can't go alone, Harry."
"Don't, Hermione," Harry said from the doorway. "Just don't. I know you only want to help, but – Just don't."
o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o
No one was very hungry the next morning. Harry had stayed out till dinnertime, returning tired and monosyllabic just as Ron chopped the last hunk of cheese into three roughly equal slices. His friends had moped around the house all day, afraid to leave in case they weren't there when he came back, they'd told each other. They hadn't wanted to admit they wanted to be there in case he didn't come back, or came only to leave.
"He'll be in a better mood tomorrow," Ron had said, as Hermione had leaned against his shoulder. "You'll see." He'd rested his head on hers and they'd been silent together.
At last! This is what I've wanted for years now, she'd thought. Oh, Ron! Why did you have to wait to get a clue till a day I need so desperately to get away and talk to the Professor?
She'd settled against his arm and sighed, deciding to make the best of it since it was obvious that she wouldn't be able to get away longer than to use the bathroom and that wasn't long enough to get to talk to Snape face to face.
Tomorrow, she'd thought. I'll talk to him tomorrow.
And now it was tomorrow. Harry's face was as bleak as ever, but his bearing radiated decision. He would consult the Order about the trial, Hermione would consult the Grimmauld library about Horcruxes – she'd better mind the locket, just in case its appearance turned out to be relevant – and Ron would join them after his test.
"Good luck and don't forget your eyebrows this time!"
o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o
Absorbed in contemplation of his Apparition license, Ron almost missed the flash of blond hair under a grey hood as he walked through the Ministry foyer. Almost. He turned back and grabbed a scrawny arm just below the shoulder, his other hand slipping into his pocket for his wand. The hood shifted over a pale, pointed face as the fourteen inch length of willow shoved under it.
"Ferret?" He couldn't believe it. What was Draco Flipping Malfoy doing at the Ministry? It must be some sort of trick.
He dug the wand a bit harder. Malfoy winced. The crowd surged and jostled obliviously around them, leaving a little bubble of space for them to stand.
"Weasel! Just my luck!" the blond said, his shoulders briefly slumping. He lifted his empty hands away from his body and spread them apart in the classic gesture of capitulation.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Ron growled, his fingers digging into bone and twisting. He darted a glance around for an accomplice, but there was no sign of Snape anywhere.
His captive gave a little grunt of pain before he could stop himself, then jerked up his chin and stared straight back, flicking a dismissive finger at his Ministry entrance badge, which read Draco Malfoy, Surrender Mission.
"Was your mum – ow! – too busy taking in washing to teach you to read?"
Ron's mouth twisted in disgust.
He glanced around the room again. Still no Snape and no one who looked like they might be planning a rescue, but there were too many people around them to risk casting a spell. If someone bumped his wand arm, it might slip and hex a bystander and Malfoy might make his escape in the confusion. Then again, it was probably less risky than trying to drag him to the Security Desk without hexing him.
"You must think I'm an idiot," he accused.
Pale lips curled in a face even whiter than usual. A pulse was beating in Malfoy's neck. Ron could feel the vibration spread up his wand arm.
"If you didn't notice that till now, then you must be," Malfoy said through gritted teeth. "Now, if you'd kindly let go, I can hand in my wand at the desk and wait for a dozen Aurors to turn up."
Ron snorted. Yeah, right! And Snape keeps a Puffskein in his pocket so he'll never run out of things to cuddle!
"Or I could hex you where you stand and turn you in myself," he threatened.
"Need the money for your next meal, do you? I suppose I can do the charitable thing and let you. Wouldn't want a classmate to starve."
There was a rustle and a parting of the crowd to one side. Ron's arm tightened its grip, even as he jumped and swung his head around to see.
"Here!" said the security guard sharply, pushing his way through. "What are you two playing at? No duels in the Ministry!"
Ron fell back slightly, but without letting go or shifting his wand. Malfoy lifted his free hand and pushed the hood off his face.
"I'm Draco Malfoy," he said in a clear, carrying voice. All around, people shrieked and moved hastily away. "I'm here to give myself up. If you'd be so kind as to arrest me, Weasel here could push off. I certainly wouldn't miss him. And hurry, please. You'll want to send the Aurors to Diagon Alley before the Death Eaters get there."
A/N Ron's current wand is 14 inch willow in canon.
