I do not own the Potter named Harry;
nor James or Lily, nor Albus or Mary.
'Who is this Mary?', I hear you all say.
A long "lost" Aunt who once was named Ray.

.

.

Chapter 26. Progress and Pity

"I know we've only been back two weeks," McGonagall loudly called out, garnering the class's attention, "but I had expected better results. This spell is no different than the sculpting spells we worked on last year. Two feet on how these spells are related, and another two on the importance of remembering what we have previously learned, to be handed in at the start of our next class. Now, before you all leave, I happened to find this quill in the hall." At her place behind her desk, she was holding up a dirty gray quill with half its feather missing and the tip broken off. "Mister Potter … did you by chance lose this?"

The entire class seemed to turn to Harry, who was awfully embarrassed to be asked about a busted-up quill. "Er, no Professor, I don't think I've lost any quills."

"What about this button," she asked, now holding up a small shiny thing, "it was near the quill. Did you lose this?"

"No, Professor … no lost buttons that I'm aware of."

"Pity," she sighed.

Harry quickly finished packing his things and rushed out of the room, leaving his laughing friends behind. He was looking forward to relaxing in the common room before dinner.

Transfiguration had signaled the end of the second week of classes, and things had settled into a hectic pattern for Harry and his friends. In addition to school work, Harry had Head Boy duties, Quidditch to oversee, Battleball for stress relief, and a stir-crazy guardian to soothe - and that was before his personal training was restarted. There were Prefect duties for Ron and Hermione; Ron and Ginny also had Quidditch; and Hermione, Ginny and Neville were working to get the DA up and running again.

A few times, as Harry listened to the others making plans for Dumbledore's Army, he felt a pang of jealousy. It was ridiculous, he knew, to feel that way. After all, his private tutoring was by top Order members in magic far more advanced than the fire-spitting charm Hermione was planning to teach.

The first of his private lessons for the year would be with one of his favorite Lupins on Sunday. To prepare, Remus had sent him a thick book full of tiny print titled A Counter for Every Curse, along with a short note stating it would help him with their training session. So when he escaped from Transfiguration on Friday he cuddled with Ginny on a sofa, leafing through the book. He was certain didn't really contain every counter-curse in existence, no matter what the introduction had claimed.

Ginny burrowed closer to his side, causing him to lose his place for the fifth time. Giving it up as a lost cause, he chucked the book onto the nearest table and wrapped his arm around his girlfriend, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly. He'd have been perfectly happy to stay that way, but the sudden weight of the cursed book landing in his lap brought him back to the present.

"You'll fail your training if you don't study," Hermione chided as she dropped into a seat on his other side.

Not touching the book, he turned his head to face her. "There are seven hundred and forty-nine spells in that book. I could read non-stop from now until Sunday morning and I don't think it would help. It's not like there's a written quiz, Hermione, it's definitely practical."

And his prediction was dead-on. Arriving at the Shrieking Shack on Sunday morning, he'd barely crawled up through the trap door when he was hit with a hair growth jinx that hid his face behind a curtain of black in seconds.

By the time he'd countered that, Remus had managed to extinguish all the lights in the room, tie his shoelaces together – he discovered that two seconds too late – and probably hit him with another spell. He wasn't sure of that last one; he didn't feel like he'd been cursed, but he'd swear he felt something impact his back as he'd tripped on his own feet.

From his place sprawled across the floor, he quickly considered his options. He kicked off his shoes as he rolled to his knees and decided a little protection was in order. 'Protego,' he tried to shout; but what came out instead was "GrrrrRarrr!"

Beyond shocked, he reached up and rubbed his throat with his left hand. "Rrreerrr?," he softly growled.

He was so caught up in his vocal deficiency that he didn't even react as his wand was pulled from his hand. Not by magic; oh no, it was neatly tugged from his hand by the man standing behind him.

"Give up, Harry?" Remus asked.

For a split second, he thought about making a grab for his wand, or maybe biting the man … but he knew that by the spirit of the exercise, he'd lost. "Yip," he agreed.

"Lumos," Remus called out before reaching out to give Harry a hand up. "Finite Latratora," he added.

"You know," Harry said, smiling as he heard his own voice again, "I really don't remember anything in that book that would counter barking spells or shoe laces tied together. I thought you said that book was supposed to help."

"And so it would have, had you used it correctly."

"What do you mean, use it correctly? You couldn't seriously expect me to read the whole thing."

Remus began to chuckle. "You could have hit me in the head with it. A book that thick is bound to do damage. Alternate thinking, Harry. That's what you'll be working on today. Tell me, if I had used the Body Bind Curse, what would you have done?"

"I'd have dodged, and then probably tried to stun or disarm you."

"In other words, you would have known how to react. But what did I do instead? I tied your shoe laces together. You never saw it coming – didn't notice it until it was too late. It was totally unexpected, and therefore, it worked."

"I get it. But what was that barking?"

The older man's face split into a wide grin. "Latratorium is a little spell your Godfather liked to play with. It changes the vocal cords so instead of speaking, a person barks. You can imagine the many uses he put it to. One good use, though, is to stop an opponent from being able to say spells. If left alone, it can last anywhere from 4 to 8 hours. Now, the incantation is 'Latratora' and it is accompanied by a flick and slight twist of the wand … no, no, more like this … that's it ..."

It ended up being one of the easier spells he learned that day. The point, Remus stressed again and again, was to make doing the unexpected second nature. That sounded all well and good, but Harry rather suspected it would be hard to remember in the heat of battle.

When their lesson ended, Remus invited Harry to relax and join him for Butterbeers and chocolate.

"This is nice, Remus," Harry commented as he sat back, enjoying their small talk. "But don't you have a pregnant wife you should be rushing off to?"

"Ah … no. I'll let you in on a little secret, Harry." Although they were quite alone in the shack, Remus looked around to assure no one was listening. "Pregnancy can turn the most loving woman into a hag."

The two laughed at the joke, until eventually Remus cleared his throat to get Harry's attention. "I do have another reason for keeping you. I need to ask you something rather personal, and I hope you don't mind the intrusion."

"Not at all," Harry responded, a bit concerned about what was coming.

"You see Harry, Albus knew about my marriage to Dora the same day it occurred, which wasn't really that much of a surprise. Very little gets past that man."

"Don't I know it," Harry agreed.

"Yes … but what did surprise us was Arthur Weasley also knowing about our marriage." He shot Harry a meaningful look, before continuing. "My wife is a very able Auror, Harry. It wasn't too hard for her to figure it out, once she took the time to really consider the matter. Someone had to have gone to Gretna Green themselves, and then told both Arthur and Albus about our names on the register … someone who would have had reason to speak with both of them that same day … someone who was, say, trying to deflect attention away from themselves?"

"Ginny and I aren't secretly married, if that's what you're getting at," Harry protested. "But … it was a close thing," he admitted, "and … sometimes I think we should have just gone ahead and done it. What if I don't …" he trailed off.

"I understand," Remus replied, and Harry could tell that he really did. "The responsible adult in me wants to tell you that you did the right thing by waiting. But I have to tell you, being married is better than I ever imagined. Werewolves aren't usually so lucky in love. And now, with a baby on the way … I never thought my life would turn out so wonderful."

"Yeah … that's sure to make me feel better," Harry grumbled.

Remus chuckled as he patted Harry's knee in a fatherly fashion. "You and Ginny are young, Harry. It would be a mistake to let Voldemort dictate your lives and rush you into things you aren't ready for. There will be plenty of time for marriage and babies later. Of course, if it really concerns you," he slyly added, "I hear Muggles have ways to insure future procreation. I believe all it takes is a little effort on your part … and a cup, of course."

-000-

When Harry was younger, his class had read a story wherein a character believed in six impossible things before breakfast. For some reason, that phrase had always stuck in his mind, probably because impossible things happened around him quite often. Except, in the Dursley household impossible equaled magical, and magic wasn't real, so he wasn't to say such nonsense. So it became 'six strange things'; and as a child he often believed that strange things happening before breakfast were a good thing – an omen, if you will.

Thus, Monday promised to be a good day, as three strange things had already occurred, and he had yet to eat his eggs. It started when he entered the Great Hall and took his normal seat, giving the Head Table his customary glance as he did so. And then he did a double take, his eyes flying back to his guardian, who was dressed in eye-popping robes of electric purple velvet adorned with fringe – fringe – of navy blue, complete with a matching pointy hat.

Albus caught Harry's eye and raised his glass to his boy, a genuine smile playing across his face. Now, Albus attending breakfast in the Great Hall wasn't the strange part; unexpected yes, but not strange. No, the strange part was that just last night, Albus had shown Harry a picture of those same robes in a catalog, and Harry had joked that even Albus wouldn't be caught dead in robes that gaudy.

Shaking his head – he knew Albus had worn those blasted things just for him – he turned his attention to a squealing to Ginny. She and Ron were reading a letter together, but being the faster reader, she'd already gotten to the (presumably) good part.

"Harry … Dad's been promoted! Can you believe it? He's going to be in charge of a new department – a real department," she clarified, "and he'll be the Head."

"Thanks for spoiling the surprise," Ron mumbled, having not gotten that far in the letter. Which was perfectly understandable. Ron always took eating more seriously than reading at the breakfast table.

"Oh, that's great," Hermione gushed. "What's the new department?"

"It's called Office for the Families and Relatives of Muggleborns in Need of Information, or OFRMNI. It's his job to keep in touch with Muggle families of magical children. Partly, it's to give them a way to contact our world, and it says something about informing them about our laws so they're less likely to break the Statute of Secrecy."

"I bet it's also a way to keep track of them," Harry reasoned. Dropping his voice he continued, "you know, in case Voldemort attacks them, or anything. It makes sense, with the war."

"Exactly what I was just thinking," Hermione agreed. "Otherwise, the families of Muggleborns could just disappear and we might not even realize it. I hope there are protections in place so Death Eaters can't steal their files. Does he say anything else?"

"Well," Ginny explained, "the letter's from Mum, so it doesn't go into much detail. Just that it's definitely a move up – way more prestige, and I would imagine better pay, not that Mum says that."

"Nah," Ron added, having finally finished the letter for himself, "she'd never say it like that. She just says they're going to celebrate with dinner at The Floating Lantern. She's always wanted to go there, but they could never afford it before."

"Oh, and he's hardly going to be at the Ministry anymore," Ginny continued. "He'll have an office in London and another in Glasgow, both in Muggle buildings, so he'll have to work on his Muggle wardrobe. He'll love that."

"Makes sense," Hermione reasoned. "If he's primarily dealing with Muggle families, he needs to be accessible to them."

"It's strange though," Ron added, "I never thought Dad would give up his job in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Too many Muggle gadgets to play with, and Mum couldn't say a thing about it."

"True," Hermione agreed, "but now he gets to work in a Muggle office, around Muggle technology. He'll have to have a telephone, and maybe a computer, too. It'll be so exciting. I'm really happy for him. Maybe I can get my Dad to help him figure out how to use everything."

"Would you?" Ginny asked.

"Sure. I'm sending him a letter anyway – I forgot to pack my dress robes, and even though the Ball isn't for months, I want him to send them to me. Don't want to wait until the last minute, after all." Strangely, she was looking at Ron as she added this last bit.

Smirking, Harry had to ask, "So … does that mean you've got a date for the dance, Hermione?"

"No," she said, turning toward Harry, but glancing back to Ron. "Nobody's asked me yet."

"Huh," Ginny said. "What about you Ron? You have a date yet?"

"No, I haven't asked her yet," he replied without thinking.

Harry and Ginny shared an evil smile, before she asked, "Oh? And who exactly haven't you asked yet?"

What happened next was strange to say the least. It was hard to say if it was truly an accident, or if he'd done it on purpose, but Ron had become so flustered by the question that he somehow managed to drop his fork into the pitcher of pumpkin juice. He pulled his wand and summoned the fork, but put a bit more force into the spell than necessary, somehow managing to make the pitcher rise from the table and shatter, drenching everyone sitting nearby.

Hermione screamed as the juice reached her Arithmancy homework, which she'd set on the table earlier. Parvati was screeching about needing to get the sticky mess out of her hair, and Seamus was cussing Ron out for his carelessness, costing Gryffindor ten points.

Ron's mini-meltdown aside, Monday had indeed proven to be a good day. Harry earned twenty-six points in his various classes, Quidditch practice with the new team members went well, and even better he and Ginny managed to sneak off together when it was over. And best of all, the prudish witch was missing from her portrait, allowing them to celebrate in a most enjoyable fashion.

They even made it back to their Common Room two hours after curfew without incident, and without Ron noticing. Yes, a good day indeed.

The rest of the week went equally well, even Double Potions on Wednesday. Granted, for Harry Potions always went well since Snape pretty much ignored him these days. But this particular class went even better than most. It had started normally enough, with a rather boring lecture on potions that are not consumed. The most common types were salves and pastes, Professor Snape explained, adding that they should already know this, as they had made many over the years.

"But there is another class of Potions; those that are inhaled," he continued. "The Board of Governors dictates that I not teach these potions until your final year, supposedly since prior to this age, you lack the finesse required to handle such delicate brews. This of course implies that you now possess such skill, an opinion I do not share as I have yet to see any such proof from any of you."

"Personally, I feel this branch of Potions is saved for your final year because you are all now adults, and can therefore be held responsible for any damage you do to yourselves and your fellow students. And make no mistake – one of you will do significant damage. Someone always does." He swept his beady eyes from student to student, making each one squirm in their seats.

Even Harry didn't escape the man's gaze of doom, and for the first time in over a year, he felt that Snape was speaking directly to him. 'Good thing Neville's not here.'

"Inhalants are rare in the magical world, but I am told that they are still widely used by Muggles. Can anyone tell me which inhalant was recently added to the Ministry's Restricted Potions List?" Not surprisingly, Hermione's arm was the only one to shoot into the air. "Anyone who hasn't already answered more than five questions for their professors today?" Hermione's arm dropped.

For once, Harry was sorry he couldn't answer. Being friends with Fred and George had its advantages.

"I thought not," Snape smirked. "The answer is Garroting Gas. An invisible gas that will knock anyone unlucky enough to inhale it unconscious. And before you delinquents get any ideas, it is a highly complex potion that I doubt any mere student could manage to brew successfully. The reason it is strictly controlled should be obvious, even to you lot. We will not be brewing it in this class."

"However, your education would be incomplete without learning at least one inhalant, so today we shall be attempting a lovely little potion called Doxycide."

Years of listening to Snape allowed Harry to hear what wasn't said – namely, that Snape felt this potion beneath study. No doubt Snape would have much preferred to teach the harder, more dangerous Garroting Gas.

"But Sir," Hermione interrupted, clearly unable to stop herself, "isn't Doxycide a topical potion? Isn't it absorbed through the skin?"

"Five points, Miss Granger, for speaking out of turn," Snape automatically snapped. "And thank you for finally proving you do not, in fact, know everything. Perhaps it is best that I am the one teaching after all, yes?" He paused, savoring the moment, before addressing the class in general. "While it is true that Doxycide can be absorbed, it is most potent when inhaled by the little pests, thus making it an inhalant. Now, if no one else plans to interrupt … no? … then we may begin."

Snape turned and waved his wand at the board, making directions appear, which was a perfectly normal action on his part. But apparently the strangeness from earlier in the week wasn't quite done, for Snape next behaved in a very un-Snape-like fashion. He turned back to the class and smiled. Well, not exactly smiled – on anyone else it certainly wouldn't qualify as such – but based on the slight twitching at the corners of his mouth and the lack of malice in his eyes, he was trying.

"As you have no doubt deduced," he said, without any of the venom that normally fills his voice, "this potion requires two brewers, meaning you must be paired up. Choose your partner wisely, for you must work together and you will earn the same grade. As this class has an odd number of students, I must … ask … Mister Potter to partner with someone to spare me the pain of having to work directly with one of you dunderheads." By the time he was done speaking, Snape was staring directly at Harry.

For one tiny second, Harry thought he'd somehow been transported to another universe. Had Snape just asked him to do something? Instead of ordering? That was it; he was seriously going to have to talk to Albus about the possibility that Snape was being possessed … or impersonated … or maybe had become addicted to some strange drug that changed a person's personality.

"I was expecting an answer, Potter. A simple 'yes Sir' would suffice, or is such a complex sentence beyond your capabilities?"

"Yes Sir," Harry slowly responded, only just stopping himself from giving a cheeky answer. "I'd be glad to work with Hermione." 'Or maybe years of spying have led to a split personality.'

Not wanting to give Snape a chance to change his mind, Harry quickly moved to Hermione's table and started setting up while she retrieved ingredients. The two fell into an easy partnership, working together with little trouble. The same could not be said for Terry Boot and his partner Ernie Macmillian.

While Harry and Hermione had a smooth navy blue potion bubbling softly, the two boys had a mess that was threatening to boil over. Translucent bubbles the size of a man's fist were slowly rising from the cauldron while thick green goo splattered onto their work table. Boot tried to clear the mess with his wand – oblivious to Snape's shouted "no" – but instead of vanishing, the bubbles exploded, releasing tiny drops of the botched potion into the air.

Before Harry could even register what had happened … before Snape could cast Bubble-Head Charms on the nitwits … the two breathed in the smelly green gas. Harry wouldn't have even known they had done so, except he was quite certain that neither normally sported long, fang-like teeth, nor were their necks and hands supposed to be covered in thick black fur.

Harry tried his best, really he did, but he couldn't stop himself from looking sideways at Hermione. "You were much more adorable covered in fur."

Thankfully Snape was nearby, and Hermione was forced to spare his life. The two finished their Doxycide in decent time, turning in a vial of ink black liquid that they were sure Mrs. Weasley would have gladly used.

Yes, the entire week seemed to be enchanted as one good thing after another happened for or around Harry. Thursday, for example, Ron had a slight stomach ache, which normally isn't considered a good thing, except that Harry was finally able to have as many apple tarts as he wanted. And Friday, while Harry was visiting Hagrid, the larger man received a surprise invitation from his sweetest Olympe to visit over the winter holidays.

Saturday morning a very happy Harry headed to his family quarters for breakfast with his guardian. This was a celebration of sorts. Although Albus had been back to work all week, he'd been officially given a clean bill of health just the day before. After a delicious meal of scrambled eggs and five different types of bacon, the two settled back and talked about classes and Professor Sprout's new haircut and the high cost of colored ink until eventually the topic worked its way to more important matters.

Handing over a small piece of parchment, Harry explained how Hermione had come up with the idea that they should make a list of possible Horcrux hiding places.

"Mmm … so I see," Albus absently responded as he looked over the list. "Many of these are places I myself have considered. But … St. Mungo's – that's one I certainly hadn't thought of, although I can see its appeal." Looking up he explained, "Many people consider Hogwarts the safest place, but in its entire history, the hospital has never been attacked – not once. Even Hogwarts cannot boast such a history."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "that's exactly what Hermione was thinking."

"Well, a few of these can be crossed off easily enough. The Hogwart's Express, for instance, is thoroughly searched before and after each run. And the Hog's Head, while an interesting theory, lacks a direct link to Tom. You will recall he was not present when the prophecy was made. I'm not even certain he either knows or cares where the prophecy was made. But … his father's grave … now that is one I had truly never suspected."

"It fits in a way, though, don't you think?"

"How so?" Albus asked.

"Well, it's where he performed the ritual to get himself a new body."

"True; but it is also where you escaped him for the … third time, was it?"

"Four if you count the Chamber," Harry corrected. "But if you think of the grave specifically, he actually used his father's bones in the ritual. He literally wouldn't have a body today without that grave. Plus, wasn't that his first murder? Or at least, the one we think he used to create his first Horcrux? That certainly sounds special to me."

"I see your point," Albus finally agreed. "Although, due to its close proximity to the ring's hiding place, I still find it unlikely. However, as it should actually be one of the easier places on this list to search, I see no harm in doing so. Would you be horribly upset if I asked you to sit this one out, and perhaps once again enlisted young William's help? Searching graves is, after all, a specialty of his."

Harry quickly agreed. He really hadn't wanted to check that particular place anyway, which Albus had probably guessed.

"Excellent. And perhaps while we are in the neighborhood, we'll take another peak at the Riddle House. I searched it, of course, after I learned of the murder of Frank Bryce, but as he most certainly returned to the area at least once after that time, it is not too hard to imagine he has made other visits."

"Fine with me," Harry was quick to say. He'd just as soon never see that entire area again. "Just … make sure you're careful, alright? I have a feeling his traps are going to be even nastier than before."

Albus wholeheartedly agreed as he went back to perusing the list. Noticing a sensitive location, he softly asked, "Had you given thought to your former home?"

"I don't think I want to search that one either. How about if you give it the once over, and if you see anything suspicious, we can talk about it. I still want it torn down, you know. Maybe we can take care of both at the same time?"

"I do so recall, and assure you its demolition is in the works. However, given this new theory, I will get more personally involved," Albus assured him.

"While we're on the subject," Harry said, "there was one other thing I wanted to mention. Hermione had this idea about … ah … saving the Horcruxes."

Albus' eyebrows rose in surprise. "And why, pray tell, would anyone want to save a Horcrux?"

"No," Harry quickly corrected, "not the Horcrux as in the whole thing, just the actual object, you know, the outside part."

"I think you'd better try to explain yourself more clearly, Harry."

"It's like this. Hermione hates the idea of destroying Hogwarts relics when there are so few remaining. And I agree with her, I guess. And we were thinking …you know how Voldemort was able to remove the sawol from Nagini? Well … Hermione wants to see if we – and by we I mostly mean her – can find a way to do the same. So … when we find the cup or the locket, we don't want it destroyed right away."

"You want me to keep a piece of Voldemort's soul lying around?"

"Well, I wouldn't have phrased it quite like that, but yeah, that about sums it up. But," Harry added, seeing that Albus looked skeptical, "it's not like it would be unprotected. I'm fully confident that you could find a safe place to stash it."

"I certainly appreciate your confidence in my abilities. Not to sound immodest, but I like to think I am at least as capable as your average Dark Lord – not that I would ever lower myself to his levels of depravity, but as Minerva has often pointed out, I could, if I so desired. It is our morals, Harry, not our abilities that separate us from the Tom Riddles of the world."

"Yeah, yeah … choices," Harry readily agreed, hoping to avoid that tired topic. "So, what do you choose? Are you going to do the easy thing and destroy priceless relics, or are you going to give us the chance to save them?"

"Throwing my own words back at me, Harry?" Albus questioned, a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. "Perhaps you have spent too much time in my company."

Harry chose not to respond, seeing as Albus was now stroking his beard in thought. Instead, he walked over the Fawkes and stroked his feathers, earning a light cooing sound. "Seen Hedwig lately, boy?" The phoenix seemed to shake his head sadly in response, and Harry found himself wondering what was going on between the two birds, but his musing were cut off by Albus' voice.

"I have to be honest, Harry. I have my reservations. Moving the sawol from one vessel to another would be dangerous to the spell caster. You may recall that Voldemort did not perform the spell himself; no, he all but forced Pettigrew to perform it. What kind of father would I be if allowed my child – or any child – to risk their eternal soul just to save a trinket? Not a very good one, I should think. And yet … I admit I find myself as distraught over the destruction of our relics as yourself and Miss Granger, enough so that I cannot dismiss your request out of hand."

He waited as Harry retook his seat before continuing, "I offer this compromise. There are three Horcruxes unaccounted for. I agree to safely store any we find until we have collected all three, giving you and Miss Granger time to find a safe means to move the sawol. But, if you have not found a solution by the time the final Horcrux is located, they will all be destroyed together."

Then, if possible, he seemed to get even more serious. "If at any time I believe that Voldemort is on to our search, any Horcrux we possess will be destroyed immediately. If at anytime I feel that any Horcrux we possess has been compromised, or poses a threat to our safety, it will be destroyed. In other words, I retain the right to change my mind and destroy them at any time. In exchange, I will allow Miss Granger – and yourself, of course – free access to all books in the restricted section as well as my own personal library, and I will make myself available, should she have questions or need clarification during her research. Is this acceptable?"

Truth be told, Harry had expected a simple 'no', so he readily accepted the deal. "Hermione will be very happy – she lives for research, I think. Of course, this whole plan hinges on us actually finding another Horcrux. I mean … the list is a great start but … I can't help but think that we're grasping at ashwinders. We were so close to the locket, and that proved to be a dead end. Literally," he added, shuddering as he remembered their run-in with deceased Malfoy.

"All that trouble," he continued, "for a fake." With a harsh laugh he added, "a fake so obvious, even Bill knew it wasn't the right locket … and he didn't even really know what we were looking for – only that it was something connected to Hogwarts. He even joked with me that the one back at Headquarters was more what he'd expect from a Founder."

"The one at Headquarters?" Albus asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Yeah, we found this junky old locket that first summer, when Molly was on her cleaning frenzy. Ugly thing, too, as I remember … just what you'd expect from the Blacks … had a snake on it and everything. We were going to chuck the thing because nobody could o…pen… it …," his voice faded. He locked eyes with Albus and cried, "OH NO – it … it can't be!" He jumped from his seat and began pacing. "Tell me there hasn't been a Horcrux safely tucked away at Headquarters all this time!"

"Harry," Albus urged, his body at full attention, "I want you to recall the locket you are speaking of … focus on a memory of it … and let me see."

Harry did as he was told and seconds later he felt the soft intrusion into his mind of a skilled Legilimens. Breaking eye contact, Albus announced, "I think a quick trip to Headquarters is in order."

"Great – let's go," Harry enthusiastically agreed.

"Oh no … not one of us," Albus replied. "I should doubt we could sneak in and out without the notice of Molly Weasley, who would no doubt riddle us with a multiple of questions whilst lamenting our lonely existences and trying her hardest to feed us a meal to rival Hogwarts' own – all out of love, of course."

"Well, in her defense, I've heard love is a powerful weapon."

"And so it is," Albus chuckled. "But in this instance, I would prefer we avoid such loving hospitality. I was thinking there might be another who could retrieve the locket for us."

"You mean, like asking Bill to get it for us?"

"I was thinking someone shorter, with a bit less hair."

Harry thought for a moment, "oh, I get it. Kreacher!"

With a pop, the ancient elf appeared in the room, bowing as he spotted Harry. "Master called?"

"Yes, Kreacher. I have a job for you. I need you to go to Grimmauld Place and retrieve a locket. I think you know the one – it's the one we were going to throw out, but you saved it. I put it on the top shelf of the display case."

Instead of rushing to do the job, which had become his normal response, he seemed frozen in place. "New Master wants … wants Master Regulus's locket? Master Regulus told Kreacher to take care of that locket." He turned and ran full-out into the nearest wall, his thin little body bouncing off and landing on the floor.

Harry looked to Albus, and saw that he was thinking the same thing - that Regulus, the Death Eater who had cold feet, who was supposedly killed by Voldemort himself, was their thief.

Oblivious to the others, the elf had sat up and bowed his head as he continued, "Kreacher can't, Master Harry. Ask Kreacher for anything else," he begged from his place on the floor. "Kreacher will give you my poor, dead Mistress' wedding picture … or great Master Orion's snuffbox … but please leave the locket."

Moving to kneel next to the elf (and taking hold of his hands to keep him from twisting his toes), Harry tried to comfort him while still insisting he obey. "Kreacher … I think I understand. Regulus asked you to protect the locket. I get that. But the thing is," he delicately tried to explain, "that locket is the probably the reason Regulus was killed. You see, he stole it from Voldemort."

That certainly got the elf's attention, and he sharply turned his head to look at Harry, disbelief clear on his face. "Master Regulus didn't like the Dark Lord," Kreacher confessed in a quiet voice. "He told Kreacher he had made a mistake. He had found out something horrible about the Dark Lord. He—he wanted out, he was telling Kreacher."

"I'm sure he did," Harry agreed. "And that locket was his key out. It needs to be destroyed Kreacher. I'm sure that was his plan. He'd have done it himself if he'd survived."

"Yes," the elf finally agreed, "it is what he wanted. But Kreacher couldn't bring himself to do it. And now, it is all Kreacher has left of young Master."

"Kreacher," Harry implored. "I'll make you a deal. You bring me the locket, and I'll take you to Gringotts. We'll go through the Black family keepsakes together and you can find yourself a new reminder of Master Regulus. There's bound to be something there that belonged to him." Glancing back, Harry saw Albus nod in approval.

The change was instantaneous. Kreacher didn't even respond. He just popped out of the room, returning about a minute later with a heavy silver locket dangling from his thin fingers.

Harry thanked him for his help as he carefully took the locket. 'Maybe if I'd known it was silver and not gold, I'd have realized sooner.' He walked over to Albus's desk and gently placed the Horcrux right in the middle of the desk. Behind him, Kreacher, sensing his job was done, left with a pop. The two wizards were quiet for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts as they gazed at this troublesome piece of Tom Riddle's soul.

"Where will you keep it, Seba?" Harry finally asked.

"Oh, I have a few places in mind," Albus assured Harry with a wave of his hand. "You'll find I can be rather resourceful when required."

"But not in a mirror, yeah?"

Feigning innocence, Albus countered, "But it worked so well the first time."

"Sure it did," Harry readily agreed, "so well that a First Year figured it out."

"Yes, well … by that same token apparently my pensieve is out."

Properly put in his place, Harry tactfully changed the subject, claiming he trusted the Headmaster's judgment. He moved back to his seat, but found his eyes returning to the cursed object of their own accord. He was certainly relieved they'd found this Horcrux – he'd been sure it was lost forever. But at the same time, he couldn't help but remember the task was far from complete.

And how did Trelawney's latest surprise factor into everything? If she was to be believed, this war would end before the school year was over, which could only happen if all the Horcruxes were destroyed. And he found what he'd lost, apparently.

"Hey," he said as inspiration struck, "I just realized … it's kinda like I lost the locket, don't you think? 'Cause, you know, I went to get it from the cave, but it wasn't there. And now I've found it, so could this count as finding what I lost?"

Albus sighed, resigning himself to having this particular conversation many times over this year. Minerva had been cornering him with everything from knuts to potion bottles to a half-eaten tomato and cheese sandwich. Calmly, he asked, "When you first discovered the locket while cleaning at Grimmauld Place, did want to keep it for yourself?"

"No … we tried to throw it away, actually," Harry admitted. "It was Kreacher that saved it."

"Disposing of an item is not the same as losing it, Harry," Albus explained.

"But when I found it later," Harry argued, "I kept it then. I picked it up and put it back on the shelf."

"And was it from that same shelf that Kreacher retrieved it?"

"Well, yeah. I assume so."

"Than it wasn't lost," Albus reasoned, sounding very tired for some reason. "It was merely forgotten."

"Oh … pity."

** end chapter **

Notes: So there's Harry's 'doh' moment. In my mind, he actually smacks himself on the forehead; but it seemed too cliche, so I refrained. I know in Rowling's world the authentic locket was gold, but doesn't silver make more sense - silver is the Slytherin house color/metal; gold was Gryffidor's. Which do you think Sal would have used?

Before Arthur's new job has you all thinking 'disaster waiting to happen', allow me to remind you that he's the Head of the Department, so he will not be the primary contact person. That's what subordinates are for. He will, however, crash three computers in his first week.

New spell: Latratorium, from Latrator meaning a barker, like a dog (I think; my e-translator of choice is no longer available). Incantation is 'Latratora'. It changes the vocal cords so instead of speaking, a person barks. If left alone, it lasts about 4 to 8 hours. Counter is 'Finite Latratora'.