A/N: Sorry, sorry, a thousand times SORRY for the unexpected hiatus of four-plus months. The wait was unintentional; most people have probably given up on the story. I thank you for sticking with me on this, faithful reader. You're part of the reason I write fan fiction, you know.

In order to understand this chapter to the best of your ability—as it has been quite some time since you've read any part of this story, probably—you might want to refer back to chapters 15 and 16, which both contain information vital to this chapter, and at least one or two more to come. Also, this chapter is not one of the most exciting (remember, we are still transitioning from the trio's first Horcrux!), but it is necessary.

Enjoy. FINALLY!!

Chapter Twenty-Five: In the Heart of the Lion

"I can't believe we're doing this."

It was the third time Hermione had uttered this sentiment since she, Harry, and Ron had left Godric's Hollow that morning.

"Well, we are," Ron said, quite unhelpfully.

"But we have absolutely no idea where we're going with this theory." Hermione's voice was uneasy as she and her friends fought against the bitter December wind, trekking down the main street of Hogsmeade. "What if we're on a wild goose-chase?"

"Then at least we tried," Harry chimed in.

"How can you be so optimistic at a time like this?"

"Maybe it'll work; you never know. It's not like we're going to Albania on a wild goose-chase, so what does it matter to you, Hermione?"

"Of course it matters to me—all of this does. And Harry Potter, if you think for one minute that I wouldn't care about something that greatly affects you, or Ron, or anyone else I know, you don't know me very well at all."

Harry smiled slightly from under his woolen cap. This was the most emotion Hermione had shown since Halloween, and that had been nearly six weeks ago. She spent much of her time locked up in Harry's father's old study, reading book after book after book. He and Ron were worried that one of these days, she'd bust from the confinement.

Following all that reading Hermione had done, she consented to at least give a go at looking within Hogwarts for the supposed Ravenclaw Horcrux. Now, she was again having second thoughts on the matter.

"If we go back home"—each of the trio now considered Number Seven, Leonidas Lane home, temporarily at least—"now, we'll have time for combat practice this afternoon, and we really need to work on—"

"Hermione, w-what have we got to lose?" Ron asked. His teeth chattered a little from the below freezing temperature surrounding them.

"I can think of a couple things," she told him, looking pointedly at the both of them.

"We'll get to see Ginny, though," Ron reminded her. "And it's a few weeks early, you know, before the holiday. She should be pleasantly surprised to see us."

Harry almost stopped dead in his tracks. He had nearly forgotten. There was, of course, a great chance he would see Ginny today. After all, school was where she was; she was at school… Harry shook his head to rid itself of his stupid-sounding thoughts. Why was he suddenly feeling nervous? He didn't have long to think of an answer, before Ron sighted the castle in the distance.

It wasn't long before they reached the gates. Having owled Headmistress McGonagall ahead of time, an enormous figure was there at the gates, waiting for them.

"Hagrid!" was the collective exclamation of joy. It had been much too long since they'd seen Hagrid, that summer, at the reading of Dumbledore's will.

After exchanging a warm greeting with the three, he opened the gate for them and led them up the snow-covered slope to the castle entrance.

"Yeh three been keepin' busy?" he wanted to know.

"Oh, yes," Hermione assured him. "Very busy."

"I though' so, 'cause I haven' received any letters…" Hagrid trailed off.

This was one of Hagrid's famous guilt trips—Harry knew them well, and each one stung as painfully as the other, even after having experienced them time and time again.

"We're sorry, Hagrid," Harry apologized. He, Ron, and Hermione sheepishly bowed their heads. There was no real excuse or explanation for not having written. They'd simply forgotten.

"Nah, s'all right. I s'pose I understand. Mus' be hard bein' the Chosen One an' all. Let yer 'people' answer yer fan mail…"

Harry looked up slowly in confusion, and found Hagrid showing a crinkly smile down at them. At that moment, Harry realized their giant friend was joking. The trio forced themselves to laugh at Hagrid's jest, but it was difficult to do so. They felt guilty anyway, and they knew Hagrid wasn't altogether pleased with their isolation, either.

By now they had reached the castle doors. Hagrid turned around to face them.

"Take care o' yerselves, y'hear? I don' know when the nex' time I see yeh will be."

They heartily promised to be careful, and then they let themselves inside. Hagrid held the door open for them as they filed in, and said, "Yeh know the way up to the office. An' I heard the headmistress enjoys Pumpkin Pasties." With that, Hagrid was gone.

Harry, Ron and Hermione dried off when they got inside, reveling in the warmth provided by the atmosphere of the castle. The castle itself, of course, was not warm, but the mere memories of years past incited joyful feelings and reminiscences to enter their hearts.

The castle was not decorated for the Christmas season yet, but the din from the Great Hall (as it was lunch time) contributed to the overall excitement that only a few weeks remained until the end of term.

"I bet Ginny's eating right now," Ron said eagerly. "Let's go surprise her." He started toward the double doors, but Hermione stopped him short.

"Ron, what are you thinking? All of Hogwarts is going to know we're here," Hermione hissed, only loud enough for Harry and Ron to hear.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Of course it is! They can't know why we're here, so it's best they don't know at all."

"But…Ginny—"

"I'm sure we can arrange to see her, but I don't think we should tarry on the way to Professor McGonagall's office."

Ron reluctantly followed Hermione up the marble staircase, and Harry trailed behind, his eyes wandering back toward the Great Hall. He simply couldn't believe they were here, after all those months.

It didn't take long for them to reach the Headmistress's office, with the exception of running into Peeves the poltergeist, who—Harry was sure—would spread word to the whole castle that Harry Potter and his friends had finally returned.

Professor McGonagall greeted them in much the same way she had written them back concerning their visit. She had a polite air about her, but something in her eyes told Harry that she wasn't very happy with this unorthodox meeting.

"Is it the same as you remember?" she asked, referring to the castle.

Hermione gave the Headmistress a weak smile. "It's a little bigger than it used to be, I think. Like we're in first year again, as if it could swallow us whole."

The professor nodded in agreement, and then she turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, I'm wondering what has prompted you to come to Hogwarts. This is, in fact, a very sudden development, and you can't blame me for being suspicious."

"I suppose not," Harry replied. He was feeling stupider by the minute. Why had they come here? It was just as Hermione had said: they were on a wild goose-chase.

"We have…business here," Harry continued.

Brown eyebrows went up over oval spectacles. "Business? Pertaining to what?"

"Well…" Why was she giving him such a hard time?

"I need to know what goes on inside the walls of this school, Mr. Potter, and you will tell me now what you plan on doing while here."

Harry could hardly believe his ears. His thoughts gradually turned to a conversation between the two of them months ago, during which McGonagall had wanted him to share the work he'd done with Dumbledore. Here she was, asking it of him again.

"Professor, I can't explain myself thoroughly—"

"I do believe you can." Her tone implied that she knew what he was keeping from her.

When Harry didn't respond, she went on. "The entire Order of the Phoenix has been informed, Mr. Potter. No need to worry about 'exposing your secret'. I understand you've already told some other Order members you trust."

She was angry. The telltale sign of her lips thinning let him know that. She was, of course, referring to the fact that he had told the Weasleys and Lupin of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes—and not her. What troubled Harry most of all was not, however, the wrath of McGonagall. It was the leaking out of such important information that he was worried about. Dumbledore had wanted the secret of the Horcruxes to remain between the two of them.

But, hadn't things changed? Dumbledore was no longer among the living—at least not physically, as Harry was frequently finding—so didn't that make things different, in the sense that sharing the fact of the Horcruxes was permissible?

If so…why did Harry feel like he was betraying the very memory of the deceased Headmaster?

"I am waiting for an answer," McGonagall reminded him.

"We're searching," Harry told her, most ambiguous with his words.

"Searching," McGonagall repeated. "For what, may I ask?"

"Professor, begging your pardon," Hermione butted in. "You've implied that you know why we're here, and what we're searching for, so I would think we wouldn't have to repeat it in present company."

Hermione's complicated sentence made Harry's head spin, but he grasped the gist of it: his friend had just told her favorite teacher off.

Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes shrewdly at Hermione. "Miss Granger, I…" she trailed off.

After a moment's deliberation, she spoke again. "Oh, very well. But none of you are allowed to stay the night here—you should be aware of this. Our securities are very strict nowadays."

Harry stood with Ron and Hermione, looking the Headmistress straight in the eye. "Thank you very much, Professor. We'll leave as soon as we can."

McGonagall showed them out, and Harry felt as if her icy stare never lifted from his back, not until they were well down the seventh floor corridor and nearing the portrait of the Fat Lady.

It had to be in here, if it was in the castle. 'In my heart, there it lies,' Gryffindor had written, in his poem to Ravenclaw. So wouldn't it make sense for the eagle-shaped Horcrux to be in the Gryffindor common room? It would have been put here first by Gryffindor himself—yet, after Lord Voldemort had gotten his hands on it, who knew where it could be?

Hermione was examining a tapestry next to the fireplace, and Ron was scrutinizing the walls of the room for any signs on the stones that might give them a clue to the Horcrux's whereabouts.

Harry looked all about him as he stood in the very center of the room. His eyes flitted from the fireplace, to the portrait hole, to the dormitory staircases, and back again. He had no earthly idea where to start.

Professor McGonagall had only allowed them to come in here because most of the students were in class at the moment, except those N.E.W.T. students who had a free period—but it was nearing the end of term, so everyone was a little more than hassled in their studies.

In short, they had the common room all to themselves for searching pleasure; it was highly unlikely any Gryffindor would come up to the tower for the time being. Harry shook his head to clear it, and to focus on the subject at hand.

In my heart, there it lies… The problem with poetry was that it could mean so many different things, and not all translations were literal. In fact, almost all explanations weren't literal. Take how Gryffindor had used the word 'heart'. Did he mean it, literally his true heart?

But that couldn't be it. 'Heart' could mean where, or in what, Gryffindor's heart had lain, in a sentimental way. Like in the old saying, "Home is where the heart is." For Harry, Hogwarts was that home. But where had Gryffindor lived? Hogwarts?

Of course, as Hermione and Ron had already helped Harry deduce, Gryffindor had possibly characterized himself as a lion in his poem, and, therefore, he might have put the eagle brooch in the heart of lion, somewhere in Hogwarts…

And here they were.

"None of the lion hearts in this tapestry," Hermione called out, moving on to another wall rug near the dormitories.

"I don't see how one could be in the walls. These stones are so sturdy, I can't move them," Ron explained, ambling over to where Harry was standing. "What are you thinking about, Harry?" he asked in a lower tone, as not to distract Hermione from her work, or worse—make her notice that neither of them were working with her.

"Oh, just about this," Harry muttered, waving the facsimile of Gryffindor's poem he held his hand.

"Heart…heart…" Ron muttered after taking the poem into his own hands. "Maybe it is his real heart, because it doesn't seem to be here. How are we going to defile his corpse?"

But Harry, as it turned out, wasn't listening to Ron's jokingly uttered words. By chance, by luck, by some odd twist of fate, Harry had realized where Godric Gryffindor's heart was: right under his feet.