An unscheduled meeting of the Gryffindorian trio took place in the most protected yet unvisited place of Hogwarts – Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom. Their confidence in choosing such a place was easily explainable – by order of the new headmaster, locking charms had been cast onto the bathroom doors at the beginning of the school year. The howling ghost, who was never tired of retelling the story of her murder by Tom Riddle – now a serious and respected wizard – had buggered even the Death Eaters. Mentioning the various parts of Salazar's or Merlin's clothes in relation to the Dark Lord was considered unacceptable and blasphemous in the castle; but Myrtle, realising the significance of her murderer in the formation of a new wizarding world, had gone brazen and was trashing the good name of You-Know-Who nonstop just for attention. It was clear that neither the Killing nor Torture Curses would work on the ghost, and since the very day of Myrtle's death there had not been a single person who had ever managed to shut her up.
Of course, the friends would prefer to settle in the Room of Requirement, but at the moment the regular meeting of Dumbledore's Army took place there. Their bedrooms in the Gryffindor Tower were not an option either – they wouldn't even dare dream of the possibility of slipping through the common room unnoticed, wearing Harry's Invisibility Cloak between the three of them plus the heavy Pensieve. So, instead of having supper in the Great Hall, they busied themselves with delivering the finally retrieved magic device to the said bathroom, and they had a great reason to hurry – the headmaster had gone to the Ministry for the evening, but on his return to his quarters he undoubtedly was going to discover the absence of the precious object.
The long-desired Pensieve turned out to be a very awkward thing – the enchanted marble basin not only weighed as though made of cast iron, but also remained immune to all spells that allowed reducing or transfiguring an object. Even Hermione, who, by the combination of natural talent and her infernal assiduousness, had reached such magical heights in Transfiguration that she was able to change the form of anything, including Horcruxes, had to concede defeat. The Pensieve was almost as indifferent to magic as Moaning Myrtle to the Death Eaters' curses. This discovery had upset the friends pretty much – the process of transferring the device to the Order of the Phoenix after they were done with it had become extremely complex.
By the time they dragged the Pensieve from the dungeons to the second floor they had worked themselves into a lather. After a brisk, but heated discussion, it was decided to wrap the Invisibility Cloak around the Pensieve, but this had rather complicated than simplified the task. Hermione could lift, with the help of 'Wingardium Leviosa', something even heavier than the enchanted marble basin, but she lacked the skill of levitating invisible objects. Therefore, on corners, the Pensieve kept getting out of control of Hermione's wand and falling onto the floor with an accusatory thud. Harry and Ronald were busy securing Hermione from the presence of prying eyes. Due to all of this, they moved slowly and by bounds: in one moment Hermione was cautiously levitating the Pensieve, rocking from side to side in mid-air in front of her, in another, warned by the boys of incomers, she put it onto the floor and the three of them pretended to be carried away chatting or looking at pictures until the coast was clear again. Such forced stops often resulted in them fumbling around the corridor floor in search of the invisible magical artefact. Fortunately, because of dinner, there were very few people in the corridors, and the guys, hardly believing it themselves, safely made it to Myrtle's. After a month of torment with locking spells at the entrance to the headmaster's office and bedroom, the protection on Myrtle's Bathroom seemed like a simple thumb latch. The friends overcame it in no time, tumbled inside, restored the protective charms onto the door and exhaustedly sank to the tiled floor.
"I can't stand the sight of this damn thing anymore!" moaned Ron.
"Technically, you can't see it," Hermione remarked reasonably, already helping Harry free the Pensieve from the Invisibility Cloak.
Now the Pensieve appeared in all its glory – a smooth white marble basin with a perfectly rounded shape. When looked at closely, the marble seemed translucent and as though illuminated from the inside. This was a truly magical object. By a joint effort, the trio perched it on top of a toilet.
"I can't believe we went and fetched it," Harry muttered, mesmerized.
"Wahhhhh! May Salazar go and fetch you!"
Ron and Harry looked at Hermione in surprise – why had she suddenly burst out? But immediately realised that it was not her. Hermione, intently wiping the Pensieve with a handkerchief, looked worried but not enough to cry out. The howling, of course, came from Myrtle, from whom they thought they had been weaned.
"Again you are doing some nasty things in my bathroom!" whined the ghost, hungry for society. "Not only was I killed here, but now you lot turn up whenever you please, like this is your place. No respect for the deceased! That vile boy who killed me was just like you… Don't you dare pretend that you can't hear me!"
Myrtle jumped angrily into a toilet cistern, dousing the guys with icy cold water.
"Hey!" yelled Ron, spitting out a mouthful. "You… Imprint of a soul, do it again and you'll regret it! Many people were killed by You-Know-Who, but they don't howl in the toilets or get in the way of others."
"Never mind, we don't have much time," said Hermione, hastily wringing out her soaked hair. "Myrtle is not dangerous, just obnoxious. Help me to get rid of the water she splashed into the Pensieve. Neville, get your phial out now – just be careful so that this psychopath doesn't knock it out of your hand."
"How did you call me?! A psychopath?!" the ghost's thick glasses were fogged up either from anger or from the high humidity in the bathroom. "Why, of course. It's not you who was killed, is it? Right at school! Right on this spot! I'll tell you how it happened…" Myrtle stopped being angry and readily sat down on top of the stall.
"Please, don't!" Harry pleaded as he rummaged through his robes pockets for the vial with memories.
"Why? I'm sure no one else has ever died as interestingly as me!"
"Myrtle, every wizard and his toad has heard it!" Ron snapped. "Shut up and let us do our business, or I'll cast an exorcise spell on you. It's unpleasant."
He and Hermione had already poured the water out of the Pensieve and now were carefully putting it back in place.
"An exorcise spell?! On me?! Then I'll banish you first!" Myrtle burst into tears. "Don't you dare come to my bathroom again, or I'll tell the headmaster about everything you are doing here."
This could be considered a serious threat if they did not know that Myrtle had been locked by a magic field within the confines of the bathroom where she had died. As for Severus Snape, the guys could not imagine that he would decide to come into a clogged girls' lavatory to weep with the moaning ghost and to listen to her ravings.
Nevertheless, Harry, irritated that she had wet the Pensieve, replied:
"Ok, go ahead. Our current headmaster and that freak that killed you are best mates now! They'll smash your bathroom all together. And the whole of Hogwarts too, if you don't let us work."
"Smash? My bathroom?! Wahhhhh!"
"Shut up!" all three snapped at the ghost; Myrtle choked with a sob.
Ron poked his ear deafened by the sudden silence.
"Let's start," Harry whispered. "Or she'll burst out again and we won't hear anything in the Pensieve."
Holding the vial tightly, he uncorked it carefully. For safety, Hermione was covering the vial below and Ron above, looking suspiciously at the heartbroken, numb-with-horror Myrtle. Harry took a deep breath – he hoped it was worth it – and poured the silvery substance into the glowing whiteness of the Pensieve. Memories immediately spread along the basin's bottom in a thick fog. The trio, holding hands, lowered their faces into this fog, and the walls around them immediately dissolved. In their place other ones appeared – dark blue, in a huge hall filled with shelves towering up to the ceiling. The room was illuminated from above by a silvery haze swirling under the dome.
"It looks like the Ministry… Hall of Memories, I think," whispered Ronald. "Dad said that no one is allowed in there now… without the Dark Mark."
In the Pensieve, through the labyrinth between the shelves with countless silvery phials, very similar to the one that Harry was clutching in his palm, Professor Dumbledore walked quickly but calmly. Harry shuddered and felt that Hermione, who continued to hold his hand by inertia, also clenched her fingers convulsively. Their dear headmaster, alive and well, exactly as they remembered him, walked through the hall in the Ministry of Magic, instead of laying, half rotten, in a tomb violated by the Death Eater.
"Come on, or we'll miss everything," Ron urged, and they silently followed Dumbledore through the Hall of Memories.
Pretty soon the old wizard stopped by one of the shelves and, with a wave of his wand, summoned a phial from the top.
"Memories of Bellatrix Lestrange, obtained from her after being imprisoned in Azkaban," he uttered quietly as though to himself, but Harry got the impression that the all-knowing Dumbledore was deliberately preparing his memories for viewing.
"Bellatrix?" asked Ron. "Malfoy's aunt? Are we supposed to search for these memories as well? Or look for her and ask her questions?"
"Hush, Ron," Hermione said. "We haven't finished here yet."
Professor Dumbledore left the hall with blue walls and walked towards a small room that looked like a glass gazebo. Only its windows were completely black. The gazebo stood in the centre of the mirrored hallway, and besides the door from which Dumbledore had stepped out, there were three other doors leading to it. A bored Ministry official sat by the gazebo – he was dressed not in the new blue robes uniform, but in the old one that had been worn before Voldemort's accession. Dumbledore handed him a piece of paper, the official nodded and looked closely at the wizard.
"To work with memories from the Secret Hall you must have a special permit signed by the Minister of Magic. Sorry, Mr Dumbledore."
"Oh, yes, of course. Here it is," the former headmaster handed him another paper.
The official studied it carefully (Harry, glancing over his shoulder, saw that it was signed by Cornelius Fudge).
"You may enter."
Dumbledore proceeded to the gazebo made of black glass, and the guys, entering it without any special permits, were surprised to see a Pensieve in the middle of it. The Ministerial Pensieve looked very similar to the one they were using at the moment, but was larger and, apparently, newer – its edges had not yet been worn-off by poured memories, although it was surely used pretty often in the Ministry. The functions of the Pensieves were most definitely similar in every way. Dumbledore slowly walked through the empty room towards the marble stand in the shape of a hand which was tightly gripping the Pensieve at the height of an adult's chest. The trio already knew what the wizard was going to do next. Sure enough, with a familiar swirl, the silvery substance from the vial of Bellatrix's memories splashed into the glowing whiteness of the Pensieve. And the walls, this time black, dissolved again.
They walked through the sunlit summer garden in such a hurry that the friends did not immediately understand who they were pursuing. Professor Dumbledore, walking in front, purposely paused from time to time, allowing those following in the footsteps of his memories to catch up with him and see exactly what he did. Or, rather, exactly what the girl, wrapped in a long black cloak that was clearly not suitable for the weather, saw. She was gliding along a wide driveway in front of Dumbledore at a brisk step, almost running. Professor Dumbledore and the trio had to quicken their pace to keep up with her. Only on the way to a huge pompous manor at the end of the driveway decorated with rose bushes and walking peacocks, the girl abruptly slowed down and allowed them to overtake her a bit. As they expected, the girl turned out to be Bellatrix Lestrange. She was very young, although the arrogance, enclosed in her posture and the way she held her head, and a germ of madness in her restless dark eyes were quite similar to the Bellatrix they knew. The saddest thing about memories was that nothing could be changed in them and no one could be saved. For Harry, who had done it multiple times before, being in someone else's memory (even double someone else's) was nothing more than a way to gather information. His friends felt differently. Unaccustomed, Hermione jumped away from a peacock rushing right through them. Ronald shuddered all over when he saw a whole group of people in black cloaks similar to Bellatrix's standing on the manor porch.
"Relax, these are just memories. It happened a long time ago and they can't see us," either for him or for herself Hermione explained. "The main thing for us is to understand what was so special that Bellatrix did, or saw, back then that Professor Dumbledore decided to give Harry these memories right before his own death."
"At the moment I understand nothing," Ron muttered, slightly out of breath after chasing Bellatrix. "How can we figure out what she's doing if she's silent? And what is this place? What if we have to find it?"
"This is Malfoy Manor, of course! Why is it such a mystery to you?" Hermione was genuinely surprised, but Ron stared at her with mystical amazement.
"Have you ever been there?"
Hermione waved her hand impatiently at the façade of the building.
"It's their family crest – where are your eyes?"
They were still following Bellatrix, who for some reason did not go up the porch but turned into a side pathway that skirted the manor on the left.
"Know-it-all," Ron muttered and looked at Harry for support. "Have you noticed the Malfoy crest? Could you ever recognise it?"
"Not sure about the crest, but I think Hermione is right – it's their home," nodded Harry. "It looks like the place Draco has been bragging about since our first year. Though, I don't see what's in this for us. We already know that Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater; therefore, the other members of their gang could have visited his house. Especially Draco's aunt."
"We don't know why we're here yet, so we need to pay attention to any detail," Hermione said. "Look! She's left the path!"
Indeed, Bellatrix, with the agility characteristic of her age, but not of her arrogance, suddenly stepped aside from the path and, making her way through the oleander bushes, came close to the manor's wall. With a nod, Dumbledore invited his invisible companions to follow her, and the baffled trio dived into blooming bushes. To their amazement, the aristocratic Bellatrix looked around, checking that she was alone, then lifted the hem of her cloak and began to climb the ivy that grew up the wall.
"What the hell?" muttered Ron. "Is she forbidden to enter the house or has lost her key and too embarrassed to knock?"
"Maybe she needs to discreetly take something," Hermione suggested in confusion.
"Or to hear," added Harry.
Meanwhile, Bellatrix climbed to the level of the diamond-shaped window of the first floor. Dumbledore, who possessed rare magical abilities both in a dream and in reality, simply flew off the ground to see what she did. The friends, who did not have such subtle skills in working with other people's memories, looked at each other.
"You should go," Hermione said, looking at Harry. "You'll understand more than us, besides you are the most agile. We need to find out what she's looking at up there."
"I'm agile too. It's not a big deal to climb up the ivy to the first floor!" Ron hissed immediately.
"I also mentioned that we need to understand what's going on there," Hermione replied.
"So, in your opinion, I'm not able to describe what I see?!"
"Can we bicker later, Ronald, when we are done here?"
Harry stopped listening to their squabble and focused on Bellatrix and the window. As Ron had said it was not a big deal to climb close to the window and, standing next to Madam Lestrange, to look inside through the gap between the curtains. It was more difficult to understand what exactly had attracted Bellatrix. At first, Harry saw nothing but a big, richly furnished room, a kind of a living room converted into an office. There was a massive desk, a sofa with matching armchairs and even a tea-table. Perhaps, there was something else, but through the gap Harry and Bellatrix could only see a small section of the room and a double door. In a second Harry realised that the owner of the office was present in the room – the young man even recoiled slightly from the window, unlike Bellatrix who immediately snuggled up to it. On the ground, Ron and Hermione stopped arguing and looked at Harry in alarm. The pale Potter shushed at them and stared back in the window, trying not to blink.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, older than the times Harry had seen him in one way or another in his normal human form, but evidently before his fateful resurrection in the Little Hangleton graveyard, paced around the room. He made several circles on the fluffy Malfoy carpet, uttering some words onto a golden cup in his hands. The words were incomprehensible, but Harry was sure that if he had heard them, he would understand nothing anyway. However, Riddle did not perform magic for long. Having finished his baffling clockwise pacing, he put the cup onto the gilded tea table and retrieved his wand, the core of which contained a twin feather from the tail of the same phoenix – seeing the sister of his own wand made Harry's scar itchy. The wand released some kind of spell into the cup and that was all. Very unspectacular for You-Know-Who. And way beyond Harry's grasp.
Harry glanced sideways at Bellatrix – maybe the clue was in her? However, it seemed that Bella did not delve into the meaning of what was happening. She gazed through the paned window with a somnambulistic blissful expression on her face that was similar to the way Muggle children look at magic – admiring it without the desire to understand or repeat. Then Bellatrix lifted her forearm towards her lips (under the black lace, Harry noticed the familiar Dark Mark on her delicate skin) and kissed the dreadful snake crawling out of the skull. Harry winced. Perhaps, all of this was due to Bellatrix's personal attitude to Tom Riddle, but Potter was not interested in love affairs in the ranks of the Death Eaters. He tried to figure out what meaning Voldemort had put into his actions. If Dumbledore had seen fit to show this particular moment, perhaps the cup was just another Horcrux? If so, was it still kept at Malfoy Manor? This was possible – Lucius had been quite close to Riddle for a long time, plus at his disposal was a huge estate – plenty of space to hide such a small thing. Harry carefully watched the Dark Lord, hoping for some hint, but no… Tom looked at the cup with satisfaction as though a potter at another well-made pot, then calmly picked up the thing, which had not changed a bit in its physical appearance, and put it into the top drawer of the desk. Harry frowned, trying to memorise the desk in detail in case the Horcrux was still in there… If it was a Horcrux…
Riddle opened the door and said to someone behind it:
"Tell him to come in."
The voice was quite similar to the one that Harry had heard in the Little Hangleton graveyard on the night of Voldemort's resurrection, or in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic on the night of Tom's duel with Dumbledore, or in the nightmares inside his head. There was only one small difference in that voice – it contained a little more human intonation: a bit of disdain and arrogance, but in general it was the same high, magnetizing, icy cold voice.
Harry stretched out his neck to better see and memorise the person who entered the room, but this was not necessary – six years of mockery! Harry would have recognized him with his eyes closed. Severus Snape was young; although he looked by two years more mature than Harry had seen him in the Pensieve during their last Occlumency lesson. The common features, of course, remained – unhealthy pallor, long unwashed hair, black robes of the simplest cut. In the pompous living room he looked alien, unlike Riddle who appeared to be organic both in the manor and in the graveyard. Nevertheless, Snape was definitely familiar with the room and it clearly was not his first visit.
"Judging by the fact that you are here, Severus, you have made your decision," Voldemort said instead of a greeting. The phrase seemed to be a statement rather than a question.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Bellatrix hasn't come yet?"
Bella, standing next to Harry, beamed and blushed. Snape, turning even paler, shook his head. He clearly did not immediately understand the question that was obviously not related to the reason of his visit.
"No, my Lord. I haven't seen her."
Quick, concise and in a completely human voice. Lucky Voldemort! Harry couldn't remember the greasy-haired bastard ever speaking without a scornful look, hiss and idiotic quips. Incredible – he could do it if he wanted to. Or, at least, could have done. Harry's hatred of these two people was beyond space and time. To see them both in the same room was almost unbearable. Perhaps Voldemort was going to give the Horcrux to Snape? That was possible, right? Bella moved a little closer to the invisible Harry to get a better look at what was happening in the room. However, to the boy's frustration the dark wizards talked about anything but Horcruxes. So, was the cup a Horcrux or not?
"Well? What's going on up there?" Ron yelled impatiently but received no answer.
Hovering in mid-air behind Harry, Professor Dumbledore silently shook his head. His face was sad and it seemed that what was happening in the room was not so much interesting to him as upsetting. Voldemort made a boring and gloomy speech about serving him, which ended with telling Severus, pale as a sheet and mute as a fish, to kneel. The young man obeyed, belatedly realising that to complete the ceremony he would need to roll up his left sleeve. He began hastily unbuttoning, or rather tearing off the buttons on his dirty shirt cuff. Harry already knew what was going to happen next and had no desire to watch it. Voldemort had obviously not yet developed the final version of his ritual for branding slaves, but the routine way with which he performed it among the chairs and cushions of the Malfoy's living room made the scene even more repulsive. Harry looked forward for Bella to get off the ivy, but she was clearly enjoying the spectacle. Having withdrawn his wand, Voldemort leisurely walked across the room towards the window, and Harry had a good look at his handsome but completely unattractive face: fine-featured and pale-skinned, though no longer brown-eyed – instead he now had red slits. What was he going to do with the Horcrux?
Bella and Severus also watched the Dark Lord, not taking their eyes off him, but with completely different feelings. Having freed his forearm, Severus continued to kneel and wait for Riddle, who was lazily playing with his wand, to make another circle around the living room and return to him. For a moment the young man glanced at the door – sure as eggs, was wondering whether to take to his heels while he still had a chance, – but immediately returned his gaze to the future Master. Harry was sure that Snape was scared as hell, but he did not have the slightest sympathy for the current headmaster. Bella was absolutely delighted – she opened her mouth with admiration, as if she dreamed of re-experiencing such a sweet moment as receiving the Mark. A bunch of psychopaths!
Finally! Riddle either sensed something or wanted to emphasize the significance of the sacrament and went to the curtains to draw them. Bella, albeit with a delay of two seconds, leapt from her vantage point into the bushes (where did a hereditary aristocrat get such agility from?). A moment later she stood as though nothing had happened on the path out of sight of the living room window. Harry and his friends did not immediately catch up with her, Dumbledore joined them even later. Bellatrix, however, no longer made any sudden movements – she brushed off her cloak and walked towards the front porch.
"So?" demanded Ronald, aflame with curiosity. "What was she doing there? Spying on her sister? Attempting to steal a cookie from a jar?"
"Neither, of course," Harry replied, greatly puzzled. "As far as I understand, she watched the Dark Lord creating another Horcrux. And how Snape signed up to his service."
"What?!" shrieked Hermione. "Professor Snape was there?"
"Not a professor yet."
"Did You-Know-Who give the Horcrux to him then?"
"I'm not sure," Harry said uncertainly. "All I know is that there were three of them – Voldemort, Snape and what I thought was a Horcrux. But I didn't see what became of it."
"What a pity!" Hermione exclaimed. "Can you remember, at least, what that thing looked li–"
Her words were interrupted by a muffled scream from the direction they had come from. Hermione clutched at her chest in surprise, Ron frowned:
"What was that? Hopefully, not what we are after."
"No," Harry shook his head. "That, I believe, was a sign that we just got a brand new Death Eater, Severus Snape. My congratulations. But Professor Dumbledore sent us back to Bellatrix's memories. Let's just follow her – maybe it'll become clear. We can't go back anyway."
Searching for a clue, he looked at Dumbledore, who did not see them. As though on a whim, the old wizard muttered under his breath:
"That magical ritual certainly matters. What a pity I cannot figure it out yet..."
"What's he talking about?" Ron asked, bewildered. "The Horcrux or the Dark Mark?"
"I think about the Horcrux," Harry answered excitedly. "What is so mysterious about the Mark? We already know that Snape is a Death Eater – he hasn't been hiding it for a while. But Dumbledore himself learnt the secret of Horcruxes shortly before his death, and before that he apparently was not sure how to interpret Bellatrix's memories."
While they indulged in speculation, Bella came up the steps of the front porch and entered the bright, spacious hall that looked even more pretentious than the living room. Silver and Slytherin green all over. There were about fifteen people gathered in there – most of them Harry already knew as Death Eaters, the rest were more likely from the same company or were eager to join it. Some were wearing masks: Harry noticed a puny, short person who was spinning next to one group of wizards, then next to another – it was not difficult to identify Pettigrew by his squeaky voice. Others stood without masks, only symbolically throwing on the black hooded cloaks that were becoming fashionable among them: for example, Lucius Malfoy – indeed, it was foolish to cover his face in his own house. Bellatrix, however, did not allow the long tail of her invisible escort to admire the Death Eaters. She was in a hurry to meet her Master who, as it turned out, was already expecting her. Therefore, Bella greeted those present purely in the form of a minimal tribute to etiquette. She lingered a little longer only near her sister with whom she exchanged a couple of insignificant words. Narcissa Malfoy stood near the window with an arrogant expression befitting the mistress of such a manor, but in splendid isolation – her husband, in the company of friends, was settled in an armchair by an unlit fireplace. Ron involuntarily slowed down, staring at her with eyes wide open – the young Narcissa was indeed as beautiful as a Veela. Harry poked his friend angrily in the side – the breath-taking beauty of Draco Malfoy's mother worried him no more than Lucius. They had to find out what had happened to the Horcrux. While the boys were sorting out their prerogatives, Hermione also deviated slightly from the course and approached the group by the fireplace. There, as already mentioned, the owner of the house was among his noticeably rejuvenated, yet quite recognizable friends – Avery, Mulciber... Snape was sitting there as well, clutching his left bleeding forearm with his right hand. He evidently had been crying recently but had calmed down.
"How is it?" there was a personal interest in Mulciber's question.
"Fine," Snape still looked deathly pale, but was slowly coming to his senses.
"It'll heal in a blink," Avery uttered knowledgeably.
"I'll get you some wine," Lucius said, summoning a house-elf with a snap of his fingers and sending him to fetch a strengthening drink.
Mulciber and Avery rose from their seats and hurried to pay their respects to one of the newcomers. Lucius just nodded arrogantly at the recent arrival, completely hidden from sight by his black cloak and Death Eater mask.
"No regrets?"
Snape raised his head. Malfoy was glaring at him intently if not probingly. Lucius's gaze was as unpleasant as Draco's – watery pale, slightly protruding eyes tenaciously caught the look of his interlocutor. Now in the elder Malfoy there were remarkably many features in common with his son. Lucius was at most twenty-five years old, but he, like Draco, had already acquired a manner of behaving like a marble statue that had come to life. Except he looked less emaciated and embittered than the current heir of one the purest ancient family. Though, Snape was successfully moving towards the Horror of the Dungeons title, as a very familiar bristled glare and an askew smirk addressed his curious friend:
"Why would I have?"
Malfoy hesitated perceptibly, but after a short pause and a quick glance at those around them, he nevertheless said:
"I have a strong feeling that he can read minds, Sev. He'll know if you did it just because of their wedding."
Severus' face changed with lightning speed – a hundred points from Gryffindor! Hermione would have paid dearly to find out the reason of such a reaction, but Ron was tugging her hand.
"C'mon, haven't you had enough of these freaks? Stop mixing up with a bad set – they belong in Azkaban," with a nod, Ron pointed to one of the doors. "Bellatrix's already gone into the living room."
Bella, flushed with excitement and invisibly accompanied by Dumbledore and Harry, was crossing the threshold of the very room into which she had been peering through the window a few minutes ago. The outlines of the hall began to blur rapidly – everything that happened there further was not imprinted in Bellatrix's memories. The outlines of the spacious living room, on the contrary, acquired clarity – apparently, Bella not only knew the room pretty well, but also memorised the moment quite vividly.
"My Lord!" Bellatrix made a graceful, respectful curtsy.
Hermione grimaced – she would never bow to anyone, much less a scum like Riddle. Though, Bella was beaming with sincere happiness and Voldemort looked at her favourably.
"I need your help, Bellatrix," he said softly.
Bella froze, expressing her readiness to do anything for him, even to jump off a cliff. Riddle smiled a little, and everyone except Bellatrix winced.
"That's the thing he was muttering over with some kind of spells," Harry said to his friends, as the Dark Lord took the mysterious cup out from the drawer.
"It could very well be one of the Horcruxes," Hermione whispered hastily. "A small thing, most likely precious and ancient – fits the style of You-Know-Who… The last stage of creating a Horcrux is not so difficult. It should be performed right before the wizard and his Horcrux disperse territorially. In fact, the shard of his soul would have been enclosed in that cup for some time."
"It looks like a Hogwarts' graduation cup," Ron remarked. "Like the one you showed us recently, Harry."
"You're right," Hermione agreed, bravely stepping closer to Tom Riddle. "It does look quite the same."
Harry did not have time to answer – the Lord spoke to his henchwoman again.
"I want you to hide this item in the most secure place, Bellatrix. I think the Lestrange vault at Gringotts would do just fine. But tell no one, not even your husband."
"Oh, no!" moaned Harry. "Gringotts! Merlin's pants! How would we get in there?!"
He looked hopefully at the frowning Dumbledore standing next to them, but the old wizard was silent, listening intently to the Dark Lord.
"Can you do it, Bellatrix?"
"Yes, my Lord!"
"And your husband?"
"Will know nothing! I'll do it without his help. After all, I'm a Lestrange too now!"
Voldemort's thin lips stretched into a satisfied smile.
"Very good. I hope you understand that this is a sign of my highest trust. Try to justify it."
Bellatrix looked down, trembling with excitement.
"Of course, my Lord."
Yes! Riddle handed the cup to Bella who, with shaking hands, clutched the dubious dark magic object to her chest in awe.
"There we are – Bellatrix's got it!" exclaimed Ron.
"Not necessarily – that was almost twenty years ago," Hermione retorted.
"At least we know what another Horcrux looks like!" Harry said.
"It definitely has to be important," muttered Dumbledore.
"Be very careful," Riddle kissed the numb Bellatrix on her forehead.
Hermione grimaced again – wow, kissing Snape in the middle of the Great Hall was not the worst thing after all! Still, what a pity she could not hear the rest of the conversation in Malfoy's hall.
"I'll do as you ordered, my Lord," Bella whispered hoarsely. "I'll hide this item where you've said and not a single soul will know about it!"
"Certainly," Voldemort uttered in his inimitable voice, continuing to hold her chin. "Because you will make the Unbreakable Vow."
The outlines of the living room blurred and disappeared sharply. At first, the friends did not understand what had happened – had Bellatrix fainted or rushed out of the room? It turned out it was Professor Dumbledore emerging from the Ministerial Pensieve. The black walls of the gazebo surrounded them once again – no Voldemort, no his Death Eaters. Dumbledore stood alone in front of the hand holding the marble basin and his face was quite concerned. Then the old wizard rolled up the sleeves of his robes, adjusted his half-moon spectacles and began to push apart the silvery fog in the Pensieve's depths with his wand as though looking for something.
"What's he doing? Wants to watch it again?" Ron craned his neck, trying to peer over Dumbledore's shoulder.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"No, he's sorting the memories," she explained impatiently. "Lowers the unwanted to the bottom and pulls the more important to the surface."
"That thing can do this as well?" Ron asked in admiration.
"Did you think a Pensieve was a sort of a toilet cistern?" Hermione could not restrain herself. "With Pensieves you can remove some memories, replace them with other ones, stretch them or actually create a new past for yourself. If you have a certain skill, of course. Otherwise, you won't have a clue what was real and what wasn't."
It looked like the months of hunting for Snape's Pensieve had thoroughly trained Hermione in the matter.
"No, thanks. I'm not going to make a salad out of my head," Ron muttered. "Out of Malfoy's aunt's head – by all means!"
Dumbledore finally found the right memory and, deftly picking it up with his magic wand, pulled it closer to the surface.
"Now," he said out loud in a clear voice, "it's extremely important for us to understand whether Bellatrix Lestrange completed Voldemort's order."
The gazebo disappeared again, and the other-people's-memory travellers landed at Gringotts precisely at the moment when Bellatrix, dressed in an elegant dark green cloak instead of her Death Eater one, walked into her family vault. Shelves filled with ancient treasures, including dozens of gold cups, huddled around her. Some goblets even lay on the floor.
"This must be the deepest level at Gringotts," this time it was not Ron who took up the enlightenment, but Harry. "The most inaccessible part of the bank, the holy of holies. We don't have a chance to get in here. Only if in the form of a fine dust."
"Not a problem. Let's just piss off Snape," Ron chuckled.
Hermione looked around sadly – next to a heavy, multiple-enchanted door that normally closed the vault, two vigilant goblins stood with their backs turned. Behind them, the head of a melancholy, shabby, but still carnivorous dragon chained to a rock was visible. Like Ronald, Hermione did not have her own vault in the wizard bank and had never been here before, but one glance was enough to understand that it was easier to kill Voldemort with a plastic shovel than to steal something from the goblins.
Bella caught their attention again. Having stopped in front of a wide ladder that rose to the very top shelves, she carefully examined the cup before parting with it. Then she looked back at the goblins waiting for her, as though embarrassed of what she was about to do and began to mutter something over the cup. The trio looked at each other, surprised – did Bellatrix decide to cast another spell onto the Horcrux? They were surprised even more when they figured out that Bella was pronouncing the silly quatrain that would make the coat of arms of the graduate's House appear. Apparently, she was haunted by the same idea that the precious item given to her by Voldemort suspiciously resembled a graduation cup. The friends could not be surprised any further, so they were astonished: when Bellatrix finished pronouncing the last words, an image of a well-fed badger appeared on the cup. The young woman opened her mouth, and her invisible companions could not blame her as they did the very same. Even Dumbledore seemed puzzled. To Bella's credit, she did not throw the cup onto the floor nor even grin. Perhaps she was held back by the Unbreakable Vow. Nevertheless, she sharply turned white, as if she had done something illegal or saw something that she shouldn't have seen, then hastily climbed the ladder and shoved the cup onto the highest and darkest shelf.
"It's clear to me now," Ron said sarcastically. "The Dark Lord studied in Hufflepuff and carefully hides it."
The outlines of the bank disintegrated, and the three were firmly pulled upward. They emerged from both of the Pensieves at the same time and landed in Myrtle's Bathroom all alone. Or rather with no one alive around them.
"There we go," Moaning Myrtle declared pointedly. "That's who I spoke about – that guy who kissed the nasty, dark-haired girl. She also studied here – a vile dirty trick, she teased me all the time. And the guy is a complete creep. He was present in the bathroom when I died. They say that he was the one who killed me," Myrtle thought a little and added with obvious pleasure: "May Salazar damn him."
"Thank you, Myrtle, we know who you were talking about," Harry said sadly, gazing at the Pensieve with the memories of Albus Dumbledore. The fog at the bottom of the basin turned from silvery to absolutely white – there were no unseen memories left.
"So, what do you think?" Harry looked hopefully at his friends.
"Oh, Merlin's dirty underpants," Ron summed up succinctly. "Well, all I understood is the Horcrux that we barely managed to destroy a few weeks ago wasn't the last one and it's still unclear how many of them are left. All we know for sure – there is a Horcrux that You-Know-Who gave to Malfoy's aunt when he was living in their house almost twenty years ago. Even worse, the aunt turned out to be responsible and locked the damn thing in impenetrable-to-us vault. The only thing we can do is to go there and beg the goblins. But then it's easier to beg the Dark Lord himself, because we really, really need that Horcrux and he has plenty of them anyway… Oh, also we learned that Snape is a real Death Eater – who would have thought? But putting all jokes aside," Ron sighed dejectedly, "I have no idea how we're going to get the cup from Gringotts. If it's still there, of course."
"Yes, the bank is pretty puzzling," nodded Harry.
"What's pretty puzzling to me is that You-Know-Who's cup looked exactly like the one you have, Neville," Hermione drawled. "Of course, there are a lot of similar looking cups, but it's a very strange coincidence – your aunt, on behalf of Professor Dumbledore, has given you a means to destroy a Horcrux and, at the same time, told you about the house where you found a Hufflepuff cup. You would never have looked for that person or his house if she hadn't mentioned him."
Harry winced painfully:
"Are you saying that my mother's friend was helping Vold… The Dark Lord?"
"No, wait," Ron waved his hands. "Maybe the cup isn't a Horcrux after all. Are you sure we won't just waste our time and risk our lives trying to get into Gringotts?"
Harry and Hermione looked at him thoughtfully.
"Nope," Potter had to admit, "but what was Riddle doing with the cup then? Why walk in circles and mutter?"
"If anyone is interested in the opinion of poor Myrtle, whom no one ever listens to," the ghost said continuing to sob intensely, "that guy just has such a habit. He walks in circles and mutters all the time. He did so in my bathroom as well."
The guys stared at her as though they had only noticed she was there.
"But you've always said that you only had a glimpse of him before the basilisk killed you!" Harry uttered.
"Well, yes, on the day of my death that I'm asked about all the time. But I'm talking of another day, when I'd already been dead for quite some time," Myrtle explained, pleased that she finally gained their attention.
Harry tried to sit on top of the toilet, that is on top of the Pensieve, came to his senses and stood up right again.
"Hang on. Did Tom Riddle come to your bathroom again?" he said slowly. "Focus, Myrtle, this is important."
Myrtle pouted and concentrated. The trio held their collective breath.
"Of course, he did and more than once," the ghost drawled. "Since I settled here most of the students were embarrassed to bother me, but that boy didn't care. He was even glad that this place was unvisited. He hung out here quite often – cast ugly spells, brewed all sorts of nasty potions, just like you three… I tried to scare him, but he simply ignored me. Could you imagine that? He drove me away with an exorcise spell, it was unpleasant. May Salazar damn –"
"Myrtle, don't get distracted!" Hermione pleaded.
Myrtle got comfortable on top of the cistern and continued:
"And then he finally graduated. It's beyond me how he managed to do so because he was a complete idiot although a handsome one… Besides he killed me. Anyway, he did not appear here for a long time. And then, one day, he came again, walked around my bathroom in circles and muttered. Just like he did with your cup. I bet he had already started going crazy back then…"
The friends looked at each other in a daze. The stars were definitely kind to them that day, as Professor Trelawney would've said.
"Myrtle, do…" Harry paused for a moment, clearing his throat. "Do you remember if he was holding something when he walked around muttering?"
"Why, of course!" Myrtle rolled her eyes behind her thick glasses. "It was such a beautiful diadem, quite an ancient one. I was so sorry that I couldn't try it on, because I'm dead, you know? But he wouldn't let me anyway. He clung to it as though a boy needs such a thing as a diadem."
"Indeed, a very strange piece of wardrobe for a boy, even if he considers himself a Lord," Ron turned to his friends.
"A Horcrux!" Harry and Hermione gasped in unison.
"What happened then, Myrtle?" Harry asked kindly. "What did he do with the diadem? Hid it here?"
"As if! I asked him to leave the diadem in my bathroom so I could at least admire it. There is nothing to look at in here, just the toilets! But he simply laughed disgustingly and left with it. May Salazar and all Salazar's ancestors damn him."
Harry tousled his hair, then smoothed it, then tousled it again.
"Erm, Myrtle, thank you so much! And now, could you go away, please? We need to think."
Myrtle chuckled resentfully, but obeyed, tumbling off the cistern and ducking into the toilet next stall. It became quite quiet.
"How do you like that? Crazy, right?" Ron whispered.
"Well…" Harry finally stopped tormenting Neville's hair. "There seems to be a hope that one of the Horcruxes is hidden in Hogwarts, since Riddle returned here after graduation and performed the final part of the ritual in Myrtle's bathroom. It must have been the day when he tried to get the position of DADA teacher."
"He'd be a much better teacher than Snape, of course," Ron shuddered. "Oh, you left your book in your dormitory, did you? Avada Kedavra!"
His friends smiled sourly – the Dark Lord was always too ready to use the Killing Curse.
"So, which Horcrux would you like to start with?" Hermione proceeded with the inevitable.
"I think, with the cup – we know more about it," Harry suggested. "True, there are more graduation cups than diadems, but if we stumble upon a diadem during our search, we'll make sure we check it out as well."
"But the diadem is at Hogwarts, at least…" Ron grumbled.
"Perhaps," Hermione reminded him.
"And the cup is most likely in the bank," Harry objected.
"Perhaps! But perhaps it isn't. Harry, we really should check the cup that you keep in your trunk. Just think about it – you've been having nightmares all this month. And your scar is prickling. What if it all related to the cup?"
"Too easy," Ron drawled dubiously. "So, we watched Professor Dumbledore's memories and – bam! We have a thing just like that gathering dust under the bed. I doubt that we are so lucky."
"Exactly," Harry nodded with relief. "Who'd keep a Horcrux on their mantelpiece anyway?"
"Then why did your aunt tell you about that house?" Hermione retorted. "Did she just want you to have more friends among the wizards? I don't remember her ever inviting Professor Dumbledore, us, Sirius or Lupin for a cup of tea."
"She didn't exactly start the conversation about friends," Harry objected defensively. "I had to practically shake the truth out of her!"
"Are you sure that it was the truth?" Hermione shook her head apprehensively. "Now, that we know that one of the Horcruxes is a cup, your aunt's story seems more and more suspicious. Perhaps it really was a trap by You-Know-Who? Just more sophisticated than we thought. He has access to your consciousness, Harry, and therefore to your weaknesses! He might've decided that if you find yourself at your mother's friend's, you won't think of looking for a Horcrux in there. Especially, if it's in a conspicuous place."
"C'mon, Hermione, this is just crazy," interjected Ron.
"And You-Know-Who isn't?" Hermione said stubbornly.
Harry mused seriously for a moment then shook his head:
"No, the house didn't look like a fake. You haven't been there! I can't explain… Besides, if it was a trap, why didn't he catch me?"
Hermione shrugged, but saw fit to warn him.
"Harry, I know you are drawn to anything that concerns your parents. But if there was a Horcrux on the mantelpiece, that house can't be trusted. Remember how Riddle's diary affected people's minds! If your mother really had a friend, why did no one ever mention him? We know your father's friends – Lupin still helps us now, Sirius accepted you as his own son… Sorry to remind you of him…"
"Maybe that person died long ago…"
"Or became a Death Eater," Ron suggested cautiously. "At that time everyone was divided into two sides. This would explain why no one talked about him. And why he had a Horcrux in his house."
"No, it wouldn't!" Hermione stamped her foot angrily. "We even know about Pettigrew, although I'd rather we didn't. No matter what kind of friends your father had – good or bad, we still heard about them! Unlike this phantom that was supposedly a friend of your mother. There is no evidence that that person ever existed, and you said that the house looked abandoned. Why was he never interested in your fate? Never showed up? You said that there was not a single picture in the house, beside your mum's. If he had studied with your mother, her other classmates would remember him too! But you said that when you asked Lupin about this –"
"Yeah," Harry agreed reluctantly, "the night he took Dean away… But I couldn't tell him the whole story, could I? About Dumbledore's task, the basilisk fang, my aunt and the fact that I broke into someone's house! And don't forget that I'm Neville! So, I only told Lupin that I've heard that Harry's mum had a Hufflepuff friend and presumed that Harry would probably like to know about him more. But Lupin said that Lily had masses of friends and he doesn't remember anyone specifically from Hufflepuff. Perhaps, if he'd known I was Harry, he would have told me more –"
"That's all we need!" Hermione rebelled. "Don't even think of telling him that! The fewer people know the better. Even the fact that Ron and I know about you is dangerous!"
"I know, don't worry. But it's annoying that I can't talk properly to other people," Harry sighed. "If I knew, I'd have a better look in that house. Maybe I should go back and search it again?"
Hermione facepalmed and Ron fully supported her this time:
"And we are back where we started! Look, man, marry my sister and stop looking for ghosts of the past. What if Hermione's right and all of that was You-Know-Who's setup? Or if that guy really was a Death Eater? You've already found the Half-Blood Prince, wasn't it enough?"
"These are completely different things, Ron!" Harry snapped. "I just enjoyed making progress in Potions, and I still want to be an Auror!"
"Why, of course! If improving your Potions skill was everything you wanted, join me in detention. Snape will tutor you in Sectumsempra as well. You fussed with that book as with Riddle's diary. Even went to bed with it! Aren't you afraid of going down the same road?"
"No, I'm not! There are hardly two Severus Snapes in the world!"
"Yeah, this is true," Ron had to agree. "And I doubt your mother would be friends with such a person!"
"She wasn't! And I know for sure that Snape hated her!" Harry said confidently remembering the scene that he had seen in the Pensieve the last time he had really tried to learn something from Snape personally. Omitting the emotionally unambiguously clarification of relations with the Marauders, the exchange of compliments between Severus and Lily had certainly not looked like a friendship. Or even like a pleasant acquaintance. Harry doubted that anyone would've found it pleasant to be acquainted with Snape, but that was not the point. "Was it a bad thing that I found Sirius Black?!" he said, hurt.
"He was the one who found you."
"Doesn't matter!" Harry's thoughts were clearly far away from the Horcruxes. "I just need a tiny clue at least. Hermione, please! Try to finish deciphering those runes. Maybe they'll give me more clarity."
Hermione exchanged irritated glances with Ron – fighting Potter's fad was pointless, and the girl nodded reluctantly.
"All right, although I doubt that I'll succeed – the letter is quite abstract. In my opinion, it's more important to check out the cup," she said persistently.
"I'm in favour," Ron raised his hand immediately. "C'mon, it's not that difficult – let's just smash it with something that destroys Horcruxes."
"Hey!" Harry protested. "I haven't yet lost hope of returning the cup to my mum's friend. Anyway, we don't have anything to smash it with – the basilisk fang broke when we destroyed the previous Horcrux."
"What about Fiendfyre?" Ron suggested hesitantly. "Hermione, you said that it can do the job. Would you like to try?"
"I would if I could," the girl replied regretfully. "This is the first time I've met such a stubborn spell. I think I hide my demons too deep. Besides, the Fiendfyre would destroy the cup even if it's not a Horcrux. We have to check it for dark magic first to be sure. But this is not difficult. I'll just take it to laboratory and run a test with reagents."
"What?!" Ron looked at her, amazed. "You are not going back to Snape after we stole the Pensieve from him. Out of the question! You are going to the Room of Requirement, Hermione. Later on, Harry and I will deliver the Pensieve there and tomorrow we will send both of you to the Order of the Phoenix. I hope Ginny has received my owl by now."
"Relax, Ron. I'm well aware that I should be out of Snape's sight after we retrieved the Pensieve, but let's not paint the devil darker than he is," the girl reassured him. "I've already spoiled his potion, stole flobberworms and ingredients from his lab and scanned his office door for protective charms – I'm still alive, aren't I? Moreover, he's still at the Ministry so he hasn't noticed the loss yet. It's a matter of five minutes – a drop from a phial onto the cup and that's it. How else are we going to find out if it's a Horcrux or not?"
Ron looked at Harry uncertainly.
"Only if it really takes five minutes," Potter sighed. "And then you immediately go to the Room of Requirement. It's time for you to leave Hogwarts. You were right… we are getting short of Muggle-borns in here. If the cup turns out to be a Horcrux you helped us find the whole two!"
"All right, I know you just want to get rid of me because I'm an insufferable know-it-all," Hermione chuckled, trying to hide how upset she was about parting with her friends and Hogwarts. "I'll go to the Order, as I said. Let's disperse; otherwise you'll be late for your detention in the Owlery. I'll go to the laboratory and then straight to the Room of Requirement. See you there later on."
"What about that thing?" Ron pointed at the Pensieve. "Should we just leave it in here for now?"
"I think we have to. We'll come back for it after detention," said Harry. "Look, there is a broken-off sink – Malfoy and I shattered it last year. Let's put the Pensieve on top of it, no one would ever guess."
"Of course, because not a single normal person would ever think of installing a Pensieve in a ladies lavatory," Hermione smirked, heading for the door.
"Well, let the Ministry of Magic have all that security, special rooms and permits, we prefer it simpler at Hogwarts. Closer to people," Ron grumbled, trying to figure out how best to grab the basin on the other side of Harry. "Ready? Lift it on the count of three. One, two…"