As Harry began to accept he could be attracted to blokes, memories bubbled up out of the depths of his subconscious.

One such memory was an interaction he'd had with Cedric Diggory about the Second Task.

"Well . . . take a bath, okay?" Cedric had said.

"What?"

"Take a bath, and, er, take the egg with you, and, er, just mull things over in the hot water. It'll help you think . . . trust me."

Harry stared at him.

"Tell you what, use the prefects' bathroom. Fourth door to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password's 'pine fresh.' Gotta go . . . want to say good night—"

He grinned at Harry again and hurried back down the stairs to Cho.

Harry had walked back to Gryffindor Tower alone, trying to work out the meaning behind the extremely strange advice. Why would a bath help him work out what the wailing egg meant? he had wondered.

His feelings had been a jumble of intense confusion and jealousy over Cho. Among the noise in his brain following Cedric's advice, he felt like Cedric was coming on to him but he had subconsciously worked through and dismissed that possibility. Had he misplaced his jealousy of Cedric as being about a girl, when it had been about both of them? He'd clung to his crush on Cho because it was all new and exciting—and while his attraction had been real, he had difficulty seeing his feelings as meaningful in hindsight.

When Dudley had asked whether Cedric was his boyfriend, it hurt beyond the terrible circumstances of his death. No, it wasn't like that, why should it matter if it was? That'd be worse, if he were my boyfriend and died, and I'd have hexed Dudley right then and there . . .

With Ginny, sure, his feelings had meant more and could not be so easily dismissed. Once she became older, tougher, and more mature, he found himself wanting her. Cho was too sensitive, too feminine, even. Ginny, by contrast, fit stereotypically masculine traits—she was independent, rugged, and opinionated—on top of being a caring, intelligent, and beautiful person. With her, he could have accepted the part of him that was attracted to masculinity without fully confronting his attraction to boys.

Thinking back to his childhood, he could assume now that his desire for friendship with his male classmates may have been prevented him from realizing other feelings. Thanks to the power of Dudley and his gang, he had no close friends growing up, so the companionship he desired was platonic with boys, only occasionally romantic with girls.

He tried not to stare too long at other children, for this gave them even more of an excuse to ostracize him. Still, couldn't help paying more attention to those he wished to befriend.

There was Sarah, a girl who reminded him of Ginny, for she liked sports and got on well with people. She had brown hair, pale blue eyes, and skin that was tanned from family holidays in Spain and other sunny places. At some point in his third year of primary school, all of the boys around his age decided to fancy her. Even after this fad subsided, Harry passed the time by imagining what it would be like to be her friend, to camp out in the light of her influence.

It would be too simple to say Harry favored people who conducted heat. He sought other loners, whether they preferred to keep to themselves to read, or were outcasts like him, or were accessories to their supposed friends.

In his fourth year, there was a boy who spent recess roaming the playground, rejecting calls from others for him to join their games. The boy—Evan—was as short as Harry, though dissimilarly had the appearance of being well cared for. Knowing that Dudley's gang would make Evan a target if they became even acquaintances, Harry kept his distance. As they both wandered the playground and kept to themselves, he liked to imagine they were kindred spirits, and could have been best friends had their circumstances been different. When someone in their class or their teacher said something that was obnoxious, cruel, or otherwise frustrating, they would exchange a look, and he would feel his stomach buzz with satisfaction. After less than a year at the school, though, Evan moved away, leaving Harry alone once more.

What was the line between wanting desperately to have someone in your life, for their affection, time, and respect, and wanting them romantically? Harry could only speculate how his childhood self felt. Even now it took time to see whether someone he was interested in was better off as a friend.

As though it wasn't enough to struggle through an identity crisis, he still had to consider how to end the time loop and how to destroy the Horcruxes.

Rather than waste time interpreting Dumbledore's cryptic advice and half-truths, Harry planned to sneak into his office in the hour before dinner for something useful. On the days he attended class, the headmaster tended to visit McGonagall first, then Filch.

Hermione helped him scour the office for information (only with the assurance that time would reset). She found a folder filled with notes and pages carefully ripped out of books.

"Oh, hang on—Astendo Horcrux!" said Harry, flicking his wand. A few pages flew out of the folder.

Hermione gathered them back up and began to skim. "There's not a lot here. Let's see . . . Okay, here, he's written that to destroy a Horcrux, you have to do something so destructive that the Horcrux can't repair itself."

That piece of insight composed the extent of their findings, as most other cupboards were sealed shut with protective spells. To make the most use of the note, Harry decided to leverage it against Dumbledore:

"Yesterday, Hermione and I went into your office to see if you had any information on how to destroy Horcruxes. One of the books said you have to do something destructive enough that the Horcrux wouldn't be able to repair itself."

"After so many months in the time loop, I suppose your sense of right and wrong has become skewed."

Harry pressed forward. "Sir, I need to know what can destroy a Horcrux."

Dumbledore met his gaze. "What will you do with the information?"

"It will help in planning to defeat Voldemort."

It took a moment for Dumbledore to think this through and weigh the implications. "Not everything I know is certain. So before you rely on my conjecture, I advise you to test the methods' effectiveness, and allow for multiple possibilities."

"Okay. Yes, I will."

"In your second year at Hogwarts, you discovered the first method capable of destroying a Horcrux."

"Tom Riddle's diary . . . I stabbed it with a Basilisk fang?"

"Precisely. The venom in that fang corrupted the Horcrux. That is one method. The second tool against Horcruxes is—as of your second year—the sword of Godric Gryffindor. When you killed the Basilisk, it became imbued with its venom, since the sword absorbs whatever may strengthen it. That is how I destroyed Marvolo Gaunt's ring." He glanced at his burnt hand.

"How else would I use the venom, other than with the sword?"

"If you retrieved the Basilisk fangs from Salazar Slytherin's chamber, I am sure they would be as effective. The last method I know—the one I am least sure of—is Fiendfyre, a very powerful curse that conjures a deadly fire, nearly impossible to stop. Only very talented wizards have faced it alone and survived."

"So . . . every way to destroy a Horcrux requires the deadliest magic?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Phoenix tears are the only antidote to Basilisk venom. Fiendfyre can only be stopped by a complex countercurse. The Killing Curse can destroy a Horcrux contained in a living vessel; the only recorded method of survival requires a sacrifice. This is why it is telling that Voldemort took such a risk with Nagini. He chose objects of power and sentiment that will lead to his downfall."

Was he falling into the same trap as Voldemort? Letting sentiment cloud his judgement?

He had destroyed time and put his heart in Draco.

"D'you suppose Malfoy will always be a prick?" Harry offhandedly asked Ron and Hermione at dinner that evening.

"I don't see why he'd bother changing, it's in his blood," said Ron through a mouthful of chicken.

"Do you mean will he always be prejudiced and cruel?" asked Hermione, glancing toward the Slytherin table.

"Maybe I should have called him something worse."

Ron made a colorful suggestion that caused a few of their peers to glance at him.

"People like him," said Hermione, "will either become self-aware or live an empty sort of life." She averted her eyes when Draco looked over at them, scowling. "I can't imagine being happy and wanting to make other people miserable simultaneously."

"I dunno, he seems pretty happy being a prick," said Ron. "The Slytherins love him for it, and we hate him for it."

"Mhm," said Harry. "And if by some miracle he did change, what would make you forgive him?"

"He'd have to change everything," said Ron. "Be another person entirely."

Following this conversation, Harry's stomach churned whenever Ron and Hermione so much as looked at Draco. He had to tell someone distant enough from his school life that they wouldn't shut down his feelings, who could understand what it meant to fancy someone of the same sex.

"Would you like some tea?" asked Lupin, straightening the home on his way to the kitchen. Harry had arrived at Grimmauld Place unannounced, quickly assuring Lupin it was nothing urgent—and now sat down on the couch. He knew he shouldn't feel nervous, as he could always do this exchange over. This coming out would not last.

A few minutes later, Lupin handed Harry his cup of tea and sat down next to him, waiting for him to speak.

"Right." Harry gripped his cup tightly to prevent his hands from trembling. "There's something I have to tell you. I would have told Sirius too, if he were still alive."

Lupin said nothing. Maybe realization dawned in his eyes, maybe he had no idea what Harry was about to say.

"I'm . . . bisexual."

Lupin's eyebrows lifted slightly, then he composed himself and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Thank you for telling me."

"I—I have something else to tell you, too." Harry told as much of the story he felt necessary, primarily about the time loop. He proved it existed by recounting everything Lupin had told him the last time he'd visited, including what he knew of Lupin and Sirius' relationship.

"Was I supportive? Did I know you were asking because of your own feelings?

"I didn't know I was asking because of that. Maybe I wasn't."

"So what changed?"

"I fancy someone. Er, a bloke. I didn't before, but with the time loop . . ."

"Would I know him? Of course, if he wants to keep this private, you do not have to tell me."

Harry exhaled loudly and ran his hands through his hair, psyching himself up. "It's Draco."

"You mean . . . ?"

"Yeah, the one and only Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Oh, Harry . . ."

"I know, alright?" he groaned. "I know, it's the bloody worst. I'm such an idiot, I wish nothing had changed."

"He is straight, is he not?" Lupin fell into thought.

"He's not straight, he seems to be in denial. Or he hasn't had the chance to think about it with everything going on. That hardly matters, he and I—it would never work out. He's a Death Eater, and before the time loop, we both hated each other."

"Why do you fancy him, then?"

Harry flushed. "It's hard to explain. I've never really put it into words." He didn't fully understand it himself. "He doesn't actually want to be a Death Eater, he's just afraid of what Voldemort will do to him—"

"So he's like Peter?"

"No! Well, yes, he's afraid Voldemort will kill him—but he's also afraid of what Voldemort would do to his family. I . . . used Veritaserum to ask him questions. I asked him why he became a Death Eater, and that's that he said."

Lupin opened his mouth to say something, but Harry continued before he could. "If his family wasn't working for Voldemort, he wouldn't be the way he is."

"And what about Sirius?" Lupin could no longer stop himself.

"Well, you wanted to be with Sirius even though he bullied people, didn't you?"

"What I meant was, Sirius came from a family of Purebloods, but unlike his brother, he didn't become a Death Eater. From what I understand, Draco is a prejudiced, unpleasant person. He has hurt people, you included. Look, I know there may be a, temptation, or perhaps you wish to fix him—"

"I have been stuck . . . in time . . . for eight months." Harry was trembling with indignation. "You can't understand—I'm not the same person I was before all this. There are things about the world around me, living the same day over and over again, that you can't even imagine. I can see how everyone is. Everyone has . . . opened up to me. I get everyone, now. At least, until the time loop ends."

"And Draco . . . ?"

"I know I can figure out a way to help him."

Lupin sighed. "If you're anything like James, you'll only be more determined if I warn you about your feelings getting hurt."

"Yeah." Now eager to change the subject, Harry moved on to his mission. "I've been investigating how to defeat Voldemort. Once I find these two objects, he'll be vulnerable. I don't suppose you have any idea of where I could find Helga Hufflepuff's cup or Salazar Slytherin's locket?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted a stout figure hurry down the stairs. "Is that Kreacher?" Heart sinking fast, Harry realized the elf must have overheard. Was he running off to inform Voldemort? "Oh no, I've got to—" He leapt up and ran after him. As soon as he reached the basement, he saw Kreacher prying a cupboard door open. "What are you doing?"

Kreacher turned to face Harry, not meeting his eyes, and mumbled an answer.

"Do you know something about either of the things I mentioned?"

Kreacher's head trembled as he tried not to respond, but he was forced to nod.

"The cup?"

Kreacher shook his head, glancing at Lupin as he entered the room.

"The locket?"

Kreacher gurgled in protest.

"I'll take that as a yes." Harry felt dizzy with excitement. "How did you get it? Can you show me?"

"I cannot show you." Kreacher's mouth twisted into an ugly frown.

"Show me. Er, you've got to, right? I'd appreciate it if you'd open the cupboard."

Kreacher looked as though he might faint from the strain, caught between Harry's request and whatever information he was hiding.

"Look, I just want to see it. You don't have to give it to me. Afterwards you can hide it somewhere new, if you want."

"Master expressly forbade me . . . I cannot . . ."

"Who, Sirius?"

"No, foolish boy! Master Regulus, the true son of Mistress Black, he forbade Kreacher, told him to hide the locket . . ." Kreacher pressed his back against the cupboard.

"Why? How did Sirius' brother get the locket? Did Voldemort give it to him? There's got to be a reason you're keeping it here and not somewhere safer. What has Regulus got to do with it?"

At this, Kreacher shook his head, and tears began to run down his wrinkled face. "Of Mistress Black's two sons, Master Regulus was the one who kept true to the family, who understood what it meant to be pure of blood."

Lupin and Harry groaned in unison.

"When he was sixteen, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord, while at sixteen Master Sirius ran away, breaking Mistress Black's heart. He was a weak, self-serving, and unruly boy, while Master Regulus was proud and happy to serve others. He was always kinder to Kreacher than Master Sirius was; he invested in his family and the Dark Lord's cause to rule Muggles and Mudbloods."

Harry looked over his shoulder to Lupin, whose solemn expression told him this was not news.

"Master Regulus was a talented wizard, and the Dark Lord took notice. Master Regulus—" Fat tears rolled down Kreacher's face. "Master always liked Kreacher. And the Dark Lord liked Master. He told Master Regulus that he required an elf."

"Voldemort needed an elf?" Harry was at a loss. Lupin handed him a tissue, which he passed on to Kreacher.

"Yes, for a very special task. It was an honor, Master Regulus said, to follow the Dark Lord's orders . . . to do whatever he needed to do, for the greater good . . . and then c-come home.

"So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. Kreacher did not dare ask what they were to do, but obediently followed him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave was a cavern, and in the cavern there was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it . . ."

Kreacher quaked from head to foot, ears drooping.

"Kreacher drank some potion, and he saw terrible things. Death, torture . . . Kreacher's insides were on fire . . . Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed. He told Kreacher to drink all the potion, he made Kreacher drink it. He dropped a locket, this locket," he gestured weakly toward it, "into the empty basin . . . He filled it with more potion. And then the Dark Lord sailed away, and Kreacher was left on the island . . ."

Harry first imagined what Hermione would say if she heard this story—it wasn't as though they needed another reason to despise Voldemort, but he suspected she'd feel sorry for him despite how much he'd demeaned Muggleborns. Then he wondered if Dumbledore knew about the cave and the island.

"Kreacher needed water, so he crawled to the island's edge and he drank from the black lake . . . and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface . . ."

"Dead hands? Were there bodies attached?"

"Yes. Most terrible creatures, dead people . . ."

"Inferi," said Lupin quietly.

"What are Inferi?"

"Animated corpses. Not zombies, but similar. Voldemort created an army of them; he had murdered enough people to do so. Powerful dark magic is necessary to bring back the dead—of course, they are not conscious, and are quite terrifying in appearance. The only way you could have survived—oh. You would have to Disapparate."

Kreacher nodded. "The Dark Lord forgot his magic would not work on Kreacher in the same way . . ."

"Or he didn't care," said Lupin.

Kreacher blinked to chase more tears down his face. "So Kreacher was not supposed to survive. But the house-elf's highest law is his Master's bidding. Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home . . ."

"Right, he mentioned that, didn't he? That you would come home." Respect apparently went a long way with a house-elf, since Kreacher's sense of duty compelled him to help Harry. "What happened when you got back?"

"Master Regulus was very worried, very worried." Kreacher's voice came out as a croak. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden in the house. And then . . . a few days later . . . Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was acting strange, very strange. He told Kreacher to come with him to the cave, he had a new task . . . Kreacher sailed with him to the island with its basin of poison . . ."

"And he made you drink the poison?" said Harry, disgusted.

Kreacher shook his head and wept, unable to continue.

Lupin gasped. "Oh, Merlin . . . so Regulus drank it, didn't he? And it killed him? We never knew—Sirius never learned how he died."

"M-Master Regulus b-brought with him a locket like the one the Dark Lord h-had," said Kreacher, sticking tissue into his nostrils to stop the flow of mucus. "He told Kreacher to take it, and when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets . . ." His words were punctuated with sobs, so that Harry had to concentrate to understand him. "Master told—Kreacher must—leave without him. Go home—keep secret—never tell my Mistress—destroy the locket. And he drank—all of it—Kreacher swapped—Master Regulus—the dead—they dragged him under . . ." He dissolved into hiccups.

Harry pressed forward. "You weren't able to destroy the locket."

"N-nothing Kreacher d-did made any mark upon it. Kreacher tried everything, but nothing, nothing worked . . . Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again." Hysteria entered his speech for the first time. "Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-family what happened in the c-cave . . ."

"And we're not family," said Lupin, with the barest hint of bitterness.

Despite everything, had he wanted to be considered one of the Blacks? If it were possible for him to be accepted . . .

"Look," said Harry, attempting to strike the right balance between gentle and firm, "Regulus wanted this locket to be destroyed. I can finish what he started. Only I know how to destroy it. You've got to do what I say, haven't you? So please trust me with it."

Kreacher shook his head, eyes squeezed shut.

"Regulus was very brave, Kreacher," said Lupin, crouching beside Harry. "He had a change of heart, which is a very rare thing. It could have been you that made him change his loyalty, knowing what Voldemort did to you. If you don't allow us to destroy the locket, his death will have been for nothing."

Kreacher let out a long groan, fingers curling around the handle of the cupboard.

"Please open it," said Harry. And Kreacher obeyed.

Surrounding a makeshift bed of dirty old blankets were glittering trinkets. On top of one pile was a locket encrusted with glittering green stones that formed a serpentine S. Ignoring Kreacher's protests, Harry pulled Slytherin's Locket out, holding it in his palm. As with the diadem, shouldn't there be a sign it was truly the Horcrux? After closing his eyes, he felt a small pulsing, either from his own fingertips or the Horcrux itself.

He opened his eyes at the sound of metal scraping near the fireplace. Kreacher had picked up a poker and magicked it red-hot, about to burn himself before Harry ran over and snatched it out of his hands. "There's no need for that. Look, how about you come with me when I talk to Dumbledore, and I'll give you the locket back afterward?"

Mouth stretched into a sarcastic smile, Kreacher Disapparated.

Without taking much time to discuss the evening's revelations, Harry thanked Lupin for the tea and company before hurrying back to the castle. His heart pounded the entire way to Dumbledore's office, where Dumbledore had apparently been waiting for him.

"You were not at dinner this evening."

"Right, about that . . ." Harry reached into his robes and pulled out the locket.

Dumbledore crossed to him. "How . . . ?" Fear flooded his face, more intense than Harry had ever seen him express it before.

"You knew about the cave, didn't you?"

"The cave . . . Yes, I began to have my suspicions . . ."

"Well, it's for the best that you didn't go. It's a death trap, and for nothing: Regulus Black planted a fake there. Sirius' house-elf Kreacher had the real one."

Dumbledore extended his good hand, and Harry passed it to him.

"There was something I needed to ask Remus in person. When I was at Grimmauld Place, I found it. Also, just recently I found the diadem; it's in the castle. That just leaves the cup and Nagini, right?"

Dumbledore set the locket on his desk. "You only learned about the Horcruxes a few days ago."

"No, sir, it's been eight months. I've been trapped in time."

He quickly caught the Headmaster on what had transpired over the loop. "As I've tried to figure out how this happened, I've been searching for the Horcruxes."

Dumbledore looked away abruptly. "In that time, have you told me about the diadem, or your search?"

"Yeah."

"What about your theories about how the time loop started?"

"All of it."

After Dumbledore didn't continue, Harry said, "I haven't got any leads on Hufflepuff's Cup. Hopefully my search won't go on for much longer."

"Harry, I have to thank you for everything you have done. We can only imagine how many lives your efforts will ultimately save. Please do not take your actions for granted."

"Thanks, sir. It hasn't been all bad."

"Still, it is not life. Only the imitation of life."

Now it was Harry who fell silent. However true what Dumbledore said was, he wanted to focus on this success, this evidence that his situation meant something.

"Kreacher," said Harry, and the house-elf Apparated into the room.

"Kreacher will be taking this back," he said gruffly, snatching the locket on Dumbledore's desk. He quickly Disapparated.

"You did not want to attempt destroying it?"

"Better to be safe than sorry, right? After the time loop ends, we can destroy them."

Dumbledore nodded. "I think you are right. If destroying the Horcruxes would end the loop, then we could lose the cup. Once alerted by the destruction of any of his Horcruxes, Voldemort would move it to a more secure location."

Logically, Harry knew this made sense. With the fate of the wizarding world on him, surely there was no question that he should put the mission first. "At what point," he began, surprising himself with how choked his voice was, "will I be able to risk it? Another month? A year?"

After letting out a long breath, Dumbledore replied, "I suspect if you dedicate yourself, you could find the cup in less than a year."

"How can you be so sure?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You will not be alone."