Author's Note: Many thanks to all reviewers. This chapter turned out to be incredibly long. I would have divided it into two, but I had a hard time finding a place to do so. An extra treat, I suppose. This is the chapter where I've borrowed one tiny element from Deathly Hallows. Since I know I have at least one reader who hasn't read DH yet, I'll save the crediting until my post-chapter author's note. So, enjoy.
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Chapter 12: Guilty Conscience
The next couple of days passed without much incident, though tension in the house was mounting. The few members of the Order who turned up for meals along with the strangers held constant whispered conversations during meals now. Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked quietly too to hide the fact that they were trying to listen in, but they did not hear anything that they did not already know. Just something about a potion and some frightful event that was supposed to happen soon.
Hermione continued to sneak up to the library whenever she had a chance, retrieving books for them to look through. They had yet to find anything, however, and she was becoming increasingly agitated. "I feel like I'm missing something obvious," she confided in Harry while they were walking down the hall. "The answer's right under our noses. I'm sure of it."
Harry thought about mentioning the twinges he kept getting in his scar in the mornings, but he could never quite think of a way to bring it up. He might have if he could remember his dreams, but all he could recall of them was that they were very mundane. He could not help but think that he was overreacting. Maybe it was just the stress of everything that was going on.
In the meantime, Malfoy seemed content to either sleep or at least pretend to sleep whenever Harry was around now, which made going back to the room decidedly easier. Harry might have thought there was something wrong with him again, but the fact that Malfoy managed to change into fresh clothes every day told him differently. In fact, on the final day that Malfoy had to take the potion, Harry returned to the room in the evening to find Malfoy lying in the corner once more, his hair damp and plastered to his head.
That particular evening was nothing special. Harry had two new books to look through. Hermione had taught Ron and him how to perform the dirt repelling spell themselves for convenience sake. Harry waved his wand over each of his hands in turn and set to work. The first book was written almost entirely in Latin, so he set it aside immediately and started on the other. This one was in better condition than any of the other books he had looked over so far, and he actually found himself intrigued by some of the information, though none of it seemed even remotely helpful for locating Horcruxes.
The sun was starting to set, but Harry continued reading, lighting the tip of his wand to illuminate the page, though the full moon outside almost made it unnecessary. He had just started to read about a theory that the way a house-elf binds himself to a family was a form of soul magic when a voice from the corner nearly made him jump out of his skin.
"Potter?"
Harry lifted his wand to illuminate Malfoy, who was wide awake and sitting up now, his ear pressed against the wall. His eyes were as big as saucers and all the color had gone out of his face.
"What?" Harry asked, his heart hammering in his chest.
"I hear growling."
Harry opened his mouth to ask what that was supposed to mean, but a sudden and sustained howl made his blood run ice cold. He had not heard that sound since his third year, but there was no mistaking it. From the look on Malfoy's face, he knew what it was too.
Harry leapt out of bed and rushed for the door, his still lit wand clutched tightly in his hand. He reached the hallway just in time to hear a chorus of howls from all around him. At the same moment, Ron came stumbling out of his room, also brandishing his wand. They both looked around wildly, but could not find the source of the noise.
"Damn!" a voice grumbled from the third floor landing. Harry whirled around, his wand raised high over his head, but there was no need. It was just Moody, who was now limping down the stairs toward them, his wooden leg making a dull thumping noise on every other step. He was fully dressed and holding his own lit wand out in front of him, both of his eyes focused on them. "You two all right?"
"There's were—" Harry started to shout.
"I know." Moody replied. "Put your wands away, both of you."
"What the hell is going on?!" Ron yelled, his voice slightly shrill, though the continued howls nearly drowned him out. There were more thudding footsteps from up and downstairs, and Harry saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley appear on the upstairs landing in their dressing gowns. They did not look frightened in the least, just extremely irritated.
As Moody reached Harry and Ron, his magical eye swiveled back in his head, no doubt to watch the Weasleys as they started down the stairs. "'Don't worry them with it,' she says," he muttered under his breath. "'They don't need to know.' Load of rubbish." He raised his voice to address the Weasleys. "Seems we're a bit short on guards tonight. I imagine Diggle's already sent Miss Granger downstairs. Another guest arrived while you were sleeping. I reckon he's still down there too."
"What's going on?" Harry repeated Ron's question, looking wildly around at the Weasleys and Moody.
"Come on you two," Mrs. Weasley said. Her face was drawn and tired. "We'll explain when we get downstairs."
Harry grudgingly went along with the Weasleys, his wand still in hand. He glanced at Ron, who looked to be thinking the same thing as him. They were not dropping their guard until someone told them what was happening.
On the way downstairs, however, they passed only Dedalus Diggle. "They're down in the kitchen," he said over the continued sounds of howling. "I've got to get back on guard duty." Before any of them could say a word, he hurried off up the stairs.
The kitchen only had two occupants when they entered. Hermione was sitting in the seat closest to the door, eyeing the elderly man across the table wearily. The man had long gray hair, a beard of equal length, and glasses. He wore a shabby, gray cloak and a slightly dazed expression on his face, as though he was not quite sure why he was there. Harry stared at him for a moment before realizing that it was the barkeep from the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade.
"Sit," Mrs. Weasley said shortly, striding over to the stove and set to making tea. When she passed the old man, she crinkled her nose. As Harry sat down, he thought he knew why, as he caught the slight but distinct smell of goats. Ron sat on his other side, while Mr. Weasley bravely took a seat just a few down from the old man.
Harry exchanged a quick look with Hermione, but she just gave a slight shake of her head. She had no idea what this was about either.
No one spoke for a long while. Mrs. Weasley brought cups of tea to each of them, but they all just stared down at it, not drinking. The exception was the old man, who was twiddling his thumbs now to amuse himself, as though he was merely a spectator at some boring affair.
As time went on, Harry's agitation got the better of him. "There are werewolves here, aren't there?" he asked. Everyone looked around at him, the Weasleys with apprehension, Ron and Hermione with looks of relief that he had been the one to speak up.
"Yes," Mr. Weasley said, taking a sip of his tea and making a face. He pointed his wand at it and a fresh curl of steam rose from the surface.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Ron said, nearly knocking his cup over as he leaned forward.
"We didn't want to worry you three with it unless we had to," Mr. Weasley said. "Everything seemed to be in order. We took every precaution, but once one of them howled...well, you three heard it."
"Why are they here?" Ron asked.
But before Mr. or Mrs. Weasley could answer, Hermione spoke up. "So, all those people we've been seeing...and all the people Lupin's been bringing meals to...they're all werewolves?"
The Weasleys nodded. "Remus has been working for the past couple of years to reach out to the ones who seem most receptive to our side," Mr. Weasley said. "The Order only just set everything up for them to come stay here a week ago."
"So, that potion Lupin was making?" Hermione asked. "That was a Wolfsbane Potion, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Mr. Weasley replied.
"But Lupin told me in third year he couldn't make the potion himself," Harry said.
"That's why we've been on alert for the past couple of days. You see, if Remus had not been able to turn out a successful batch in time, we would have had about forty-odd full-fledged werewolves on our hands. As it is, we've still had to keep the more dangerous ones locked up in the drawing room on the top floor tonight."
"But what if they get out?" Ron asked.
"Then they will have to get past a team of fifteen Order members and Lupin to make it downstairs."
"There should have been a guard on every floor," Mrs. Weasley said haughtily, narrowing her eyes at her husband as though it was his fault, "and silencing spells on the doors."
"I imagine Doge and Jones just got held up at the Ministry," Mr. Weasley said. "As for the spells, you know full well that those would do no good. We need to be able to hear in case they hurt themselves, or each other."
"That still doesn't explain why you didn't tell us," Harry said, fighting to reign in his temper. Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick, worried glance, which did not help matters.
"We didn't want you treating them differently for it," Mrs. Weasley said. "Remus is working very hard to rehabilitate some of them, and he's made a lot of progress. We thought it would help if we just treat them as we would any other guests."
"Rest assured," Mr. Weasley said, "we would never put you three in danger. If the potion had gone wrong, we would have left the house immediately."
Harry wanted to argue, but his head was starting to ache and feel oddly muddled. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. Slowly, he began to feel better and he opened his eyes again, putting it down to just being tired. Ron continued to gape at his parents, but Hermione had turned her attention to Harry, worry clearly written on her face. He gave her the slightest of of nods to let her know that he was fine. Meanwhile, the old man across the table had stopped twiddling his thumbs and was giving Harry a curious look.
Mr. Weasley, as though desperate to change the subject, turned his attention to the old man. "It's been a while, Aberforth. I didn't know you were staying here."
The man gave a haughty sniff and reached into his robes, withdrawing a flask from which he took a deep drink. A strong smell of alcohol filled the room. "Just for the night. Got things to do in the morning. Top secret, you know?" He seemed very proud of this fact.
"Hang on," Harry said suddenly as the name registered in his mind. "You...you're Aberforth Dumbledore, aren't you?"
Hermione and Ron's eyes widened as Dumbledore's brother gave a smile, revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth. "Albus always said you had a sharp mind," he said.
"Is there a particular reason why you're here?" Mrs. Weasley asked impatiently.
"It just so happens I have a package for Mr. Potter," Aberforth said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, badly wrapped bundle. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it skidding across the table toward Harry. "From Minerva McGonagall. She says to make sure you're in a large room before trying to unshrink it."
"Uh...thanks," Harry said, staring down at the package apprehensively. It was about the size of one of his school books, but knowing that there was a shrinking spell on it, it could have been anything.
"I've been meaning to ask," Aberforth said, now turning his attention to Mr. Weasley, "how's the search for Snape and the Malfoy boy coming along?"
Harry simultaneously felt a strong surge of contempt and panic at the mention of Snape and Malfoy's names. He struggled to keep a straight face, and as he snuck a quick glance at the other two, he was glad to see they were managing to do the same.
"Not well," Mr. Weasley said. "There are all sorts of rumors floating around, but not a one has led to anything."
Aberforth shook his head. "Damn shame," he muttered. "Well, if you all don't mind, I think I'll go up and have a word with Moody." Without waiting for anyone to reply, he stood up and staggered out of the room with the air of one who was very drunk.
"That's Dumbledore's brother?" Ron said incredulously the moment the door had shut.
"Unfortunately," Mrs. Weasley said, eyeing the package in front of Harry suspiciously. "I'd be careful opening that. There's no telling what it might be."
"Now, Molly," Mr. Weasley said, "Aberforth said that it was from Minerva. I'm sure it's fine."
"I don't trust that man," Mrs. Weasley said. "You know what sort of crowd he lurks about with." She looked between Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "I don't want you three talking to him anymore, do you hear me?"
"Now, Molly, don't you think...?" Mr. Weasley quailed under Mrs. Weasley's death glare. "Um, right. Well, I imagine the guards have things quieted down by now. We should...uh...head back up."
Indeed, by the time they got upstairs, the howling had stopped, though Harry was sure he still heard low growls from a couple of rooms. Hermione said good night to them on the first floor and went back to her room, but Harry and Ron lingered in the second floor hall after Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had gone up to their own room.
"What do you reckon it is?" Ron asked, staring at the package in Harry's hands.
Harry shrugged. "I think I'll leave it till morning. Do you mind keeping it for the night? I don't fancy the thought of Malfoy getting a hold of it, whatever it is."
Ron nodded and gingerly took the parcel, holding it at arms length as though it was a bomb. "See you in the morning then."
"Yeah."
When Harry got back to the room, he expected to find Malfoy fast asleep in the corner. So, he was surprised to find the room empty. Slightly panicked, Harry looked around and noticed that the door to the bathroom was ajar. He drew his wand as a precaution, crossed the room, and gently nudged the door open.
Malfoy was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest in the far corner of the room, across from the toilet. When Harry entered, his head shot up to look at him, his eyes wide open in terror for an instant. Then, as he moved his focus to Harry's wand, the fear turned to wariness.
"Apparently we have a werewolf staying next door," Harry said, lowering his wand. He did not see any point in lying to Malfoy, though he decided it might be best to leave off telling him just how many werewolves there were in the house. He felt a stab of pity for Malfoy, but past experience told him that he should just leaving well enough alone. So, he turned around and went back out into the bedroom without another word.
Harry eyed the book that still lay open on his bed for a moment, but he closed it and set it aside. He was too tired to worry about the Horcruxes right now. His brain was starting to get that odd, muddled feeling again, but he did not fight it this time. He just had time to lay down before darkness enveloped him.
By the time he woke the next morning, Malfoy had returned to his corner. Far from being asleep, however, he was sitting bolt upright, staring straight ahead. In the morning light, Harry could clearly see the dark shadows under his eyes. He did not seem to notice that Harry was looking at him.
Harry pulled himself up into a sitting position and hunched over, rubbing his scar, which was itching slightly. He felt terrible. He had been getting plenty of sleep the last few nights, yet it was as though he had not slept at all. Still, he was almost certain that it was just nerves. That burst of pain in his scar a few days ago had just rattled him and was making him feel things that were not there.
-
"Harry, are you all right?"
Harry looked up from his breakfast, which he had barely taken two bites of. None of the werewolves had come down to the kitchen, so it was just the trio, the Weasleys, and a couple of Order members at the table. Hermione was giving Harry a look of concern. Ron had glanced over at him as well, his fork hovering a few inches from his mouth, momentarily forgotten.
Harry nodded, taking a bite of toast to prove it, even though his stomach was rolling. He knew that if this continued much longer, he was going to have to tell them. With Mrs. Weasley now glancing down the table to make sure he was all right, however, he was forced to just settle for rubbing his scar to make it stop twitching and continuing to force down his breakfast.
As they were heading back upstairs later, Hermione and Ron cornered Harry on the second floor landing. "Your scar's been hurting again, hasn't it?" Hermione said.
"No," Harry said immediately. "Well...sort of. I don't know."
"You don't know?" Ron asked. "How can you not know?"
"Well, it's not...hurting, exactly," Harry said. "It just sort of...twinges a little."
"How many times has this happened?" Hermione asked.
"It starts when I wake up, but it's usually gone by the end of breakfast."
"What?" Hermione said, blinking. "This has been happening every morning and you didn't tell us?"
Harry shrugged, suddenly feeling exceedingly stupid. "I figured I was just imagining it."
"Um," Ron said, glancing down the hall, where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were coming up the stairs, "we should probably talk about this somewhere else."
Harry had hoped they might change the subject when they reached Ron's room, but the moment the door opened, Hermione rounded on him again. "Have you been having dreams again?"
"Of course not," Harry said indignantly. "I would've told you if I was."
But Hermione was still staring at him critically, and even Ron looked as though he did not quite believe it.
"Fine, don't believe me," Harry growled under his breath. "I'll just leave then." He started for the door.
"Wait." Hermione caught his arm, wincing what he turned to glare at her. "We do believe you, but...I think you should try learning Occlumency again."
"And how, exactly, would you suggest I do that?" Harry asked.
"Well," Hermione said, hesitating, "not really learning, I suppose, but I think you should try practicing it again. You know, clearing your mind, like..." She trailed off, biting her lip.
"...like Snape taught me?" Harry said in a low voice, his eyes narrowing. Hermione stumbled back a couple of steps. Ron had also retreated a bit, his eyes flitting between the two of them.
After a long, tense moment of silence, Hermione finally spoke again in a small, wavering voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't think...well, of course..."
But Harry's anger was short-lived, and he found himself too exhausted to keep up the argument. "Forget it," he mumbled.
But this was easier said than done. Ron and Hermione seemed almost too scared to say anything, which did cause another brief surge of annoyance in Harry. He forced himself to look away from them, and his eyes fell on the still unopened package that Aberforth had given him, which was sitting on Ron's bedside table. Glad for something else to focus on, he picked it up and slowly started to tear the paper off.
As he removed the last bit of paper, he felt an almost fluid fabric brush against his hand and all thought of his scar flew from his mind. He stared down at his Invisibility Cloak, which was only semi-visible around the edges and seemed to be wrapped around some sort of box. He carefully pulled the cloak away and found that the box was actually a black cabinet, shrunk down so that it fit in his hands. He found a bit of parchment taped to the back and peeled it loose, unfolding it.
Harry Potter,
In going over Professor Dumbledore's will, I found that he has left a few items to you. Be careful when you unshrink the cabinet, as its contents are extremely fragile. Have a safe and happy summer.
Minerva McGonagall
Hermione seemed to have decided that Harry was in a better mood now, as she had moved to stand by the bed, reaching out to touch the cloak. "She must've found it on the Tower," she said.
Ron, however, seemed to be of the same mind as Harry, focusing more on the cabinet. "What do you reckon's in there?'
Harry shrugged, though he did have a suspicion. He had seen a cabinet just like this one back at Hogwarts, in Dumbledore's office.
"Hmm...that's odd," Hermione said. She was not looking at the cabinet, but at the letter still clutched in Harry's hand.
"What?" Harry asked.
"She doesn't mention the cloak in the letter. I would think that she would. I mean, she's usually very thorough."
"Maybe it just slipped her mind," Ron said dismissively. "C'mon, let's unshrink it."
Harry was inclined to agree with Ron, so stood up, setting the cabinet on the floor, and, ignoring the exasperated look from Hermione, waved his wand at it. The floorboards groaned as the cabinet swelled up to about waist-height. Before Hermione could object, Harry strode over and opened it.
The cabinet was divided into two shelves. Dumbledore's Pensieve sat on the top one, casting a soft, silvery glow over Harry's face. A simple wooden box took up most of the other shelf, leaving just enough room for Harry to slip his hands in on either side of the it. It stuck slightly to the bottom of the cabinet, but with some effort, he managed to dislodge it. He brushed his hand lightly over the lid to clear off a layer of dust. The letters M.L.M. had been etched deeply in the wood.
"Uh...Harry?"
Harry, who had been about to open the box, looked up to see what Ron wanted. Ron was pointing toward the bottom shelf, where another box, identical to the one in Harry's hands, had appeared.
Harry reluctantly put the first box aside and pulled out the new one, but kept his eye on the shelf. It stayed bare for a moment, but then, as though a hidden compartment had opened up in the back of the cabinet, another one slide in to take its place.
"This one's different," Hermione said, reaching over to wipe a bit of dust off the second one. "Look, this one says, 'F.I.F.'"
"What do you think it stands for?" Ron asked.
"No idea," Harry said. He felt along the side of the box to find the edges of the lid and slowly pried it open, coughing as a cloud of dust rose into the air.
He had a brief glimpse of something shiny before his vision went blurry and a throb of pain started in his head. He heard a groan from his left and blinked over at Ron, who was rubbing his eyes.
Hermione, however, seemed to be focusing on a spot just beyond the box, and her mouth hung open. "Oh my," she whispered.
Remembering what Hermione had said about expansion spells, Harry looked down again, trying to relax his eyes. Finally, the inside of the box came into focus and his own jaw dropped. The dimensions of the inside of the box were massive, and the entire thing was packed with at least a few hundred tiny vials, each labeled with the date and with one or more sets of letters, though F.I.F. was on all of them. Harry reached inside and retrieved one dated sometime in April of the previous year. Tiny, silver strands of memory coiled around the inside of the vial.
"Wow," Ron said. He seemed to have figured out how to see the inside of the box, as he was peering down at it now. He reached inside and pulled out another vial. "This one's from forty years ago. Do you think these are all Dumbledore's?"
Harry shrugged, but his attention was back on the third box that still sat on the bottom shelf. If he pulled it out, would another take its place? Just how many of these boxes were there? Harry was just about to reach for the box when Hermione grabbed his arm.
"Wait," she said, staring at the top shelf, "there's something back there." She reached her arm deep into the cabinet and retrieved a large, rather battered-looking roll of parchment that seemed to have been lodged behind the Pensieve. She unrolled a couple inches of it and her eyes widened.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
Hermione turned to a clear patch of Ron's floor and unfurled the parchment with a flourish. It stretched all the way to the door, the edges curling up slightly. It had been divided into five columns, and nearly every inch was covered in Dumbledore's small handwriting.
"They're names," Hermione said, kneeling down and squinting. Sure enough, what lay in front of them seemed to be an expansive list of names, stretching all the way from Adam Jacob Abane in the top left corner to Zachary Lee Zyphor in the bottom right.
"We're on here," Ron said, moving around the side of the parchment and pointing out their names. "There's like three feet of Weasleys on here."
"But look," Hermione said, pointing somewhere in the middle of the page. "Minerva Leandra McGonagall. M.L.M., that's the first box." She got to her feet, jumped lightly over to the other side of the list, and crouched down. After a moment, she pointed again. "And Filius Isaiah Flitwick is the second."
"McGonagall and Flitwick?" Harry said. "What does that mean?"
"Well," Hermione said, "my guess is that the initials on the box tell us who the memories are about." She selected a vial from Flitwick's box. "And the initials on the label are all of the people who are in that memory. They must be cross-referenced somehow."
"But there must be thousands of names on this list," Harry said. "We can't go through every single box."
"Hmm..." Hermione scratched the back of her head absently for a moment, staring at the list. "I wonder..." She stood up and moved back to the cabinet, kneeling in front of it. "Harry James Potter," she said in a loud, clear voice.
The box inside the cabinet shuddered, then retreated back into the cabinet, and disappeared. A moment later, another one sprang forward to take its spot. Hermione reached in to retrieve it, wiping her sleeve over the top of it. The initials H.J.P. were carved into the lid.
"Thought so," Hermione said. "There's a basic voice identification spell on it. You just have to say the name of the person you're looking for." She looked up at the box that had now appeared where the one in her hands had been only seconds before. "I imagine there's some sort of algorithm for which one comes up next."
Harry was hardly paying attention, staring instead at the box in front of Hermione, a million questions in his mind. How many memories were inside of it? Were they all Dumbledore's? If so, which ones were they?
"Hey," Ron said, disrupting Harry's thoughts. He had wandered toward the top of the list. "Regulus Black is on here."
Harry and Hermione got up and moved around to where he was standing. There were actually two Regulus Blacks on the list, but only one of them had a middle name beginning with the letter A. Harry found himself looking at the two names underneath, however, which were both Sirius Black. He wondered which one was his godfather. He searched his memory, but he did not think Sirius had ever told him is middle name.
Hermione had gone back to the cabinet now. "Regulus Arcturus Black." A moment later, she straightened up with a box in her hand, prying it open. "There's only two vials in here. The first one's from 1975. He would've still been in school then, but..." Hermine held up another one, her face paling. "...this is from 1979. The year he died."
"How did you figure that out so fast?" Ron asked incredulously.
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "It's just basic math." She turned her attention to Harry. "What do you think?"
Harry, who had spaced out again, looked up, forcing his brain to quickly run through what she had just said. "What do we have to lose?" he said finally.
So, Hermione reached into the cabinet, carefully lifting the Pensieve off the shelf. She carried it over to the table, taking slow, even footsteps, and lowered it with such care that the contents barely rippled.
"Do you know what you're doing?" Harry asked as Hermione uncorked the vial.
"I think so," Hermione said, dumping the memory strands into the Pensieve and carefully prodded the surface of the contents with her wand until they started swirling. "I read up on Pensieves for one of the Charms assignments last year. I just hope I remember it right."
As they stared, the memories turned into a window, looking down upon a room that Harry recognized as Dumbledore's office.
"Are you sure about this?" Hermione asked.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Harry said, laughing a bit. He did not give her a chance to reply, however, taking a deep breath and plunging his face into the Pensieve. He felt the familiar sensation of being pulled in and falling through the darkness until he landed on his feet in the middle of Dumbledore's office.
Harry looked around at the room, which looked exactly as it had the last time he had been inside, and his heart leapt into his throat. "Professor Dumbledore," he gasped, though he knew there would be no response. The headmaster sat in the great chair behind his desk, peering down at a stack of parchment in front of him, his brow furrowed.
"Harry."
Harry jumped and glanced back to see Hermione standing behind him. A moment later, Ron materialized next to her, looking slightly frightened. "What now?" he asked.
"We just watch," Harry said, moving to stand in the corner of the room. Even though he knew Dumbledore could not see him, it seemed awkward to just stand in the middle of the floor.
As though on cue, the door opened and Professor McGonagall stuck her head into the room. Hermione gave a small gasp and whipped around to face her, but McGonagall did not even bat an eye. "Sorry to disturb you, Albus, but there's a young man out here who wants to see you."
Dumbledore looked up. "Yes, I've been expecting him. Send him up, Minerva."
Professor McGonagall nodded and retreated, closing the door softly. A few minutes passed before the it opened again, a nervous looking man with shoulder-length black hair peeking in. "P...professor?"
"Yes, Mr. Black, come on in."
Regulus Black stepped into the room. He had a tall, gangly build like Ron, but he was stooped slightly, as though the weight of his head was too much for his narrow shoulders. His face was drawn, sallow, and drenched in sweat, as though he was fighting some terrible illness.
Regulus started to close the door but looked back suddenly, staring down at something Harry could not see. "No, K...Kreacher. W...wait out here."
Kreacher? Hermione mouthed at Harry, who shrugged, just as perplexed as she was.
"May I offer you something to drink?" Dumbledore asked.
"N..no thanks," Regulus said, collapsing into a chair without waiting for an invitation. He looked as though he was about to be sick. "You g...got my letter then?"
Dumbledore, who had conjured a teapot and was pouring a cup for himself, inclined his head. "The owl arrived just an hour ago. I'm afraid I missed the part explaining why you wanted to meet with me."
"Well, I..." Regulus gave a sudden start and looked around wildly, as though some invisible person had tapped him on the shoulder. "Is th...there any ch..chance of anyone overh...hearing us?"
Dumbledore reached into his robes for his wand, and Regulus instantly shrank back in his chair. But Dumbledore merely pointed his wand at the door, sending a pulse of white light at it, and nodded. "No one can hear us."
Regulus glanced around the room again, and leaned forward in his chair. "I want protection." His voice had changed, no longer shaky and timid, though he still looked ill.
Dumbledore paused with his cup halfway to his lips, peering at Regulus thoughtfully. "You'll have to be more specific, Mr. Black. I'm afraid I don't understand."
Regulus seized his sleeve and pulled it up to his elbow, uncovering the Dark Mark burning black against his pale skin. "I'm leaving the Dark Lord's service. If he doesn't know by now, he will soon. He'll be sending his Death Eaters after me. Please, I need your help."
Dumbledore continued to stare at Regulus for a moment, then set his cup down. "You may stay in the castle if you wish. I assure you, you will be safe here."
Regulus shook his head. "Please, Professor, I can't. I have to...I mean, I have things to do." His hand drifted to his pocket, as though unconsciously. Harry moved a couple of steps, tilting his head, trying to catch a glimpse of what was in it, but he could not see anything.
"Again, Mr. Black, you are being vague," Dumbledore said. "If you can tell me what it is you need to do, I can send a guard with you. Perhaps even send someone in your place."
Regulus looked frightened again. "I...I can't," he said, looking down at his hands, which were starting to shake. "I'm sorry, sir."
"I'm sorry too," Dumbledore said, "but I'm afraid I can't help you."
Regulus nodded sullenly and, bracing a hand on the arms of his chair, pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled on his way to the door, nearly falling over, but managed to keep his footing.
"Is Master Regulus all right?" Kreacher's eager voice said, and Harry had a brief glimpse of the ancient house-elf, who was bouncing from foot to foot. "Kreacher thinks he should..." The door slammed shut, cutting off the rest.
"Should we go?" Hermione asked. Harry glanced reluctantly at Dumbledore, who had turned his attention back to his mountain of paperwork, but he finally nodded. Hermione grabbed his and Ron's arms, and he felt himself being yanked backwards. The scene around him disappeared, replaced by Ron's room again as the three fell into a heap on the floor.
"Looks like I need some practice," Hermione said, wincing as she attempted to pull her legs out from under Ron. "Harry, could you get off my hair?"
"How did you do that?" Ron asked as he got up and offered Hermione a hand.
"It's essentially the same as Apparition," she said. "Except instead of turning, you just jump backwards."
"Well, that was a waste of time," Harry said.
"We know that Regulus was trying to switch sides," Hermione said. "I'll just bet you that thing in his pocket was the locket. If only he'd given it to Dumbledore."
"Why did he bring Kreacher with him?" Ron asked.
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know, maybe he just...hang on. Didn't Lupin say that it was a house-elf who found Regulus?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "Why?"
"Because if it was Kreacher, maybe he didn't actually find him. Maybe he was with him when he died. Which means..."
"...that he might know where the locket is," Harry finished, though he did not share her excitement. In fact, the thought of bringing Kreacher into this made him start to feel sick again.
"We can contact Professor McGonagall after lunch," Hermione said, using her wand to scoop the memory back into the vial and carrying the Pensieve back to the cabinet.
Ron stepped over to help Harry roll up the list of names. "What're we going to do with this thing?" he asked, waving his hand at the cabinet.
Hermione had finished loading the boxes back into the cabinet by now and stepped aside so Harry could put the roll of parchment in. She closed the door and tapped the top of the cabinet, shrinking it back down to the size of a book.
"Do you mind keeping it in here?" Harry said. "I'd rather Malfoy not find out about it. The cloak too."
"Sure," Ron said. He stowed the items under his bed.
Lunch passed as breakfast had: with very few people at the table and almost no conversation. Afterwards, the three of them lingered in the kitchen on the pretense of clearing the table. Once they were alone, they quickly stacked the dishes up in the sink and hurried over to the fireplace.
"We'll keep watch," Hermione said. "Don't bother questioning him yet, just have him come here."
Harry nodded and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. He knelt down on the floor, threw the powder in, and plunged his head into the flames. "Hogwarts!" he said. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch as his head spun through the flames, the rest of his body remaining stationary in the kitchen.
When his head finally came to a stop, he found himself looking out into Dumbledore's office again. This time, however, the figure bent over a stack of paperwork on the desk was not Dumbledore, but Professor McGonagall. She seemed to have aged considerable in the time since Harry last saw her and looked as though she had not slept in a week.
"Professor?"
McGonagall gave a start, upsetting an inkwell. Harry had never seen her so jumpy before. "Oh, Mr. Potter. I wasn't expecting you." She waved her wand to clean up the ink spill.
"Yeah," Harry said, "listen, thanks for sending the cabinet."
"You are quite welcome," she said, setting aside her parchment and quill. "Though I would venture a guess that that's not why you're here.
Harry felt his face grow hot, though that might have just been from the flames framing his head. "Well, I do need a favor." McGonagall nodded as though she had been expecting as much, so he pressed on. "Can I borrow Kreacher for a while?"
This did seem to surprise her. "That's an odd request, Mr. Potter. May I ask why?"
"I...can't tell you," Harry said. Even though he knew that he would probably be safe in telling her about the Horcruxes, he had promised Dumbledore he would keep them a secret. "Please, Professor. It shouldn't take too long."
McGonagall sighed. "Well, I am certainly not in a position to stop you Mr. Potter, seeing as he is your house-elf." She waved her wand and, with a loud bang, Kreacher appeared in the middle of the room, carrying a stack of dirty dishes as tall as he was and looking confused.
"You won't be needing those," McGonagall said. She pointed her wand at the dishes, which vanished. "He's all yours, Mr. Potter."
"Thanks," Harry said half-heartedly. He turned to the house-elf, who seemed to be steadfast in ignoring him. "Kreacher, I need you to go to Grimmauld Place."
Kreacher mumbled something unintelligible and, with another crack, disappeared.
"If that is all, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, retrieving her quill, "I have work I need to finish here."
"Thanks again," Harry said. He took a deep breath and pulled his head back. The office disappeared from his vision, and his head spun again for a moment before he found himself back on his hands and knees in the kitchen.
"Well?" Ron said as Harry staggered to his feet, rubbing soot from his eyes. "How did it go?"
"What do you...?" Harry trailed off as he looked around the room. "Where is he? I told him to come back here."
"What exactly did you say to him?" Hermione asked.
"I told him to go to Grimmauld Place."
"Well, then he has to be here somewhere," she insisted. "Just try calling for him."
Harry narrowed his eyes at her, but decided to give it a shot. "Kreacher, come here!" he said loudly, feeling ridiculous.
Kreacher appeared a few feet from Harry, a look of pure loathing in his eyes. "Kreacher won't do it," he said, stomping his foot like a petulant child. "Kreacher won't do Master's dirty work anymore. Kreacher will iron his hands. Kreacher will throw himself down the stairs."
"Hello, Kreacher," Hermione said, smiling
Kreacher turned his attention on her and started muttering under his breath. "The Mudblood dares to speak to Kreacher. She is not Kreacher's master. And she brings one of the blood traitors, even more vile than she."
"Ron, don't," Hermione said, catching Ron's arm as he was about to reach for his wand. "He doesn't know what he's saying."
"The hell he doesn't!" Ron said.
Harry rubbed his temples to ward off a brewing headache. "Ron, would you just go keep watch to make sure no one comes down here?"
Ron looked as though that was the last thing he wanted to do, but he headed upstairs without another word.
"Oh, my poor mistress," Kreacher continued as though none of them had spoken at all, looking up at the ceiling. "She will have orders for Kreacher. Kreacher must go to her." He scampered off toward the stairs too.
"Kreacher, stop!" Harry said. "Get back here!"
Kreacher froze, one foot on the bottom step. He turned and slowly walked back, dragging his feet the whole way. "Kreacher will do as Master wishes." He lowered his voice again. "Not for long, Kreacher knows. The Dark Lord will find Master again, and Kreacher can go back to his true masters."
Harry seethed, but he also suppressed a laugh at the thought of what Kreacher would say if he knew that Draco Malfoy was staying in Grimmauld Place at this very moment. "We need to ask you some questions about Sirius's brother, Regulus."
Kreacher gave Harry a devilish smile. "Master Regulus was Mistress's favorite," he said. Then, his face fell as he looked up at the ceiling again. "My poor Mistress. Kreacher tried."
"Tried what?" Hermione asked.
"Answer her question," Harry said quickly before Kreacher could have a chance to insult her.
"Kreacher was supposed to watch Master Regulus," Kreacher said through gritted teeth. "Kreacher was supposed to report back to Mistress. But Master Regulus forbade Kreacher from coming back." Without warning, Kreacher dashed off to one side, throwing himself against the wall repeatedly. "Kreacher is a bad house-elf! Bad!"
"Kreacher, stop," Harry said. Though he was sure that he would regret it, he decided that getting answers was more important right now. "I forbid you from hurting yourself."
If looks could kill, Harry would have been ripped to shreds. "Master is cruel and vile."
"What did Regulus not want his mother to know?"
Kreacher's eyes turned fearful, and he raised his hands to cover his face. "Kreacher can't tell," he said, slowly shaking his head back and forth. "Kreacher can't tell. Kreacher can't tell. Kreacher can't—"
"Regulus isn't your master anymore," Harry said. "Whatever orders he gave don't apply anymore. Now tell me. What did Regulus not want his mother to know?"
Kreacher, who had dropped to his knees now, looked up again. "Master Regulus found out the Dark Lord's secret."
"The Horcruxes," Harry said. When Kreacher inclined his head ever so slightly, he pressed on. "So, did he get the locket before or after he went to see Dumbledore?"
"Before," Kreacher growled.
"Did he find any other Horcruxes?"
"Kreacher doesn't know."
"Did he manage to destroy the locket before the Death Eaters' killed him?"
To Harry's surprise, Kreacher buried his face in his hands again and let out a great wail, tears streaming from between his fingers. "Kreacher is sorry, Mistress!" he cried. "Kreacher only did as Master Regulus ordered!"
"What did Regulus order you to do?"
But Kreacher was incomprehensible now, his screams echoing throughout the kitchen. Harry was just about to tell him to shut up when Hermione grabbed his arm. "Don't," she said. "Just tell him to answer my questions."
Harry gave her an odd look, but finally turned back to the house-elf. "Kreacher," he said, "I order you to answer Hermione's questions. Truthfully."
Hermione gave Harry a brief smile and moved forward, kneeling in front of the still sobbing house-elf. "Kreacher, were you with Regulus when he found the locket?"
Kreacher nodded, sniffing loudly. He did not look at Hermione or give any sign of noticing that she was the one asking the questions.
"And when he died a few days later?"
Another nod.
"Hermione, what...?" Harry trailed off as she held up a hand to silence him.
"So, you were in the cave with him," she said. "Did you cross the lake?"
Nod.
"Did Regulus have to drink a potion from a basin to get the locket out?"
Kreacher nodded so rapidly his head was a blur.
"Did the potion kill him?"
Harry's hands flew up to cover his ears as Kreacher let out his loudest shriek yet. There was a dull thump from upstairs and Ron came running back down, brandishing his wand. He took one look at Kreacher and gave Harry a quizzical look, but it was no use trying to explain everything with all the noise. By the time Kreacher went back to his quiet sobbing, Harry, Ron, and even Hermione had retreated several paces, and none of them spoke for a long time.
Once Harry regained the ability to think, however, the memory of Dumbledore lying on the ground, pleading for Harry not to make him drink any more of the potion filled his mind, and suddenly Kreacher's behavior started to make sense. "Regulus ordered you to make him drink the potion," he said, hardly aware that he had spoken.
Kreacher nodded again.
Harry felt a lump rising in his throat and he turned, walking numbly toward the door. The others seemed dumbfounded, because he was halfway up the stairs before Hermione called after him. "Harry, wait!" When he heard her voice, he broke into a run, ignoring the screams that erupted from Mrs. Black's portrait as he hurried across the Entrance Hall and up to the first floor.
"Harry? What...?" Lupin moved aside just in time as Harry ran past.
Harry reached the second floor hall which was, mercifully, empty, and stopped for a moment, taking a quick stock of his options. Going back to his room was right out. Now more than ever, he knew that he would not be able to stand Malfoy's company. He could always choose a room at random, but he had no idea which rooms were occupied, so that would be a gamble. Finally, inspiration struck him and he took off again up another flight of stairs. After checking to make sure no one was around, he found the room he was looking for, wrenched open the door, and ducked inside.
The library was just as dark and dreary as the last time he had been there. If possible, the layer of dust coating everything seemed thicker. Nevertheless, Harry stalked across the room, ignoring the cobwebs that grabbed at his face and clothes. He kept going until he reached the corner furthest from the door, hidden by a rather large bookcase that had toppled over, and sat down. A huge cloud of dust engulfed him, making him double over coughing. This, coupled with a shortness of breath caused by running all the way up here, made his head ache and his vision swim for several minutes until he finally managed to get a hold of himself.
It all made sense now: Regulus's appearance in Dumbledore's office, his death, Kreacher's behavior, all of it. The potion that protected the locket must have been some sort of slow acting poison. Which meant that if Dumbledore had not died that night on the Astronomy Tower, there was a very real possibility that he would have died a few days later anyway.
And it would have been Harry's fault.
But Dumbledore had told him to do it. He had told him that no matter what he said, Harry was to keep making him drink the potion. Besides, if Dumbledore had survived, there might have been an antidote.
A new image floated into Harry's mind of Dumbledore kneeling on the roof, Snape advancing toward him. Dumbledore had lost his wand by that time, but Harry had no doubt that he would have been more than capable of escaping that situation under normal circumstances. The potion that Harry had forced on Dumbledore had weakened him just enough for Snape to make his move. No matter how much Harry tried to convince himself that it was not his fault, he could not alleviate his guilt.
Harry's eyes burned and he reached up a hand to rub them, smearing even more dirt onto his face. He drew his knees up to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the thoughts out of his mind.
"Harry? Are you in here?" Harry was not quite sure how long he had sat there when Hermione's voice called to him. He had no way of knowing how close she was, only the security that since he could not see her through the mess of cobwebs and debris, she most certainly could not see him. Even if she could, he doubted she would be able to distinguish his filthy robes and dirt-smudged face from the surroundings. Nevertheless, he pressed himself against the wall and held his breath until he heard the door creak shut again.
Harry knew he could not hide forever. He had tried to hide from his problems a year and a half ago, when he thought that Voldemort was possessing him. In fact, now that he had run away from Ron and Hermione, he had no doubt that they would confront him about it, and he would be forced to reveal the thoughts that plagued him. But at least this way he had time. Time to make an attempt at working through the wave of emotions that threatened to overcome him.
Hours passed, however, and Harry was no more ready to face the world than he had been before. The dust that he had kicked up into the air had still not dissipated entirely, and he was having a hard time breathing. Meanwhile, the light in the room dimmed, though Harry could not quite tell if the sun was setting or if he was just starting to fall asleep. His brain felt fuzzy again, and he found it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open.
He stood on the roof of the Astronomy Tower, pressed up against the wall, unable to move. Dumbledore knelt on the floor nearby, his face drawn and tired, as a group of faceless Death Eaters advanced toward him. Then, the door behind them flew open. The Death Eaters stopped at once and parted to allow the new arrival to approach. As the figure drew nearer, his face came into view, and Harry was looking at a carbon copy of himself.
This isn't right, a voice said in Harry's mind, but it was an insignificant whisper in the numb horror that filled him. Helpless, he watched the other him approach Dumbledore, a look of pure loathing on his face as he drew his wand.
"Harry...please..." Dumbledore said weakly.
"Avada Kedavra!" There was a flash of green and Dumbledore was lifted off the ground, hovering for an instant, before plummeting out of sight.
Harry felt the immobilization spell lift off of him, but he still did not move. The Death Eaters and the other Harry were still standing there, staring straight ahead at the spot where Dumbledore had disappeared.
Harry felt a brief stab of pain in his scar. Something was not right. Someone was missing. Where was...?
"Potter." Harry turned his head and saw Malfoy sitting cross-legged on the ground, a chessboard set up in front of him. Malfoy opened his mouth again and spoke in an echoing voice. "It's your move, Potter."
Harry looked down at the chessboard, but it had turned into a crumbling tombstone, lying face down on a patch of dead grass. All else around him dissolved into nothingness, and he was left paralyzed and staring. Once in a while, an image would flash before his eyes, such as Dumbledore standing behind his desk or Malfoy hunched over in his corner, and his scar throbbed, but none of it seemed to matter. Only the tombstone mattered.
"Molly!" a muffled voice called from afar. Harry felt a searing pain in his scar and a sensation as though someone were forcibly removing a piece of his brain, and his eyes opened in slits. Through the haze, he could see only a shadow looming over him. "Molly!" the voice yelled again, closer this time. "I found him!" A hand shook his shoulder roughly. "Potter! Wake up!" But Harry was so exhausted he could not even think, let alone move. His eyes closed back up and his head rolled limply on his shoulders until the hand stopped shaking him.
A moment later, Harry felt himself lift off the floor and he was floating in midair. His head was killing him and every breath was agony. As he felt darkness creeping back over his mind, he did not fight it, wishing it would all just end.
- - - - -
Author's note: So, a curious question to the folks who thought they knew what was happening with the strangers of Grimmauld Place: Did you guess right? Next chapter (depending on where I cut off, this might actually be a preview for the next two chapters): a special visitor, a blind girl, a newspaper article, and an all too familiar potion. Harry has more issues than you can shake a stick at, Lupin has an idea, Malfoy has a problem with his head, and Hermione's just pissed off. I'll try to get it out next weekend, but no promises. It might end up being even longer than this one was.
Okay, so now for the credit. If you don't want spoilers for DH, don't read beyond this point. The thing that I borrowed was Regulus's middle name. The rest of this chapter was written before the book came out, so any other things that match up are purely coincidental.