- Chapter Five -

The Selwyn House

The scenery where he stood was a picture of total desolation. Bare, fragmented rocks, broken trees, scorched grass, and choking smoke dominated the scene, on which towered huge, sombre statues, strangely out of place. They were black figures of men with gloomy, bowed heads, looking as if they had grown out of the ground like plants. The dawn sunlight shone between them, painting long shadows across the desolate landscape.

Harry saw only two persons, Grindelwald and the Nameless, facing each other; the blond wizard stood atop one of the black statues, wand drawn, looking down at the masked woman, who was imprisoned in another stone carving of a human figure. The statue's huge hands seemed to be carved around the Nameless' upraised wrists, holding her, shackled, unable to fight.

'You have won...' breathed the masked sorcerer.

She was panting heavily, barely able to breathe; the duel that whas destroyed the surrounding countryside must have pushed her to the point of exhaustion, and she lost.

Grindelwald didn't look much better: he was standing sideways on top of the statue, as if about to fall off it, and his left side was covered in blood. He seemed unable to use one of his arms, so severe was the wound.

He swallowed and shook his head.

'My last... attack... you could have... parried... with ease...' he shouted wearily to the captured Nameless.

She just laughed at the assumption.

'I was beginning to lose a long time ago, Master of Death,' she replied.

Grindelwald disapparated off the top of the statue, only to appear a second later at the half-submerged pedestal of the black statue. Harry could now take a closer look at his injury, which was not at all harmless, yet the wizard seemed to ignore it, just looked at his handcuffed opponent and finally smiled in satisfaction.

'You know, if you had wanted to accept my offer... you could have simply said yes...'

He laughed now as well, and with a wave of his wand, he released the Nameless - the giant hands of the statue moved with a crackling crunch, and let go the wrists of the ragged-robed sorcerer.

'Where would the fun be then?' the Nameless said back, rubbing her forearm. She too had been injured in the fight, yet she did not look as exhausted as Grindelwald.

The blond wizard waved his wand again, and Harry then noticed that it was the same wand that lay in Dumbledore's tomb at Hogwarts; Grindelwald had already obtained the Wand of Destiny from Gregorovitch.

The magic caused the earth to shake, and then the black statues, which looked exactly like the carvings that decorated Nurmengard's buildings, sank back into the ground, leaving nothing behind. Harry had no idea what these statues were for - the memory began after the duel had been decided - he could only think that Grindelwald had somehow set them off to fight.

Not far from where they were standing, a once silently flowing stream had burst its banks, flooding the area and turning the wasteland into a sea of mud. He could not imagine what magic could have wreaked such havoc on the landscape. He had seen the battle between Dumbledore and Voldemort, which had caused great damage to the Ministry of Magic's atrium, and of course he had experienced the truly destructive power of magic at the Battle of Hogwarts, and later at the Nurmengard duel, but still - this landscape was virtually pulverized.

Harry was beginning to be overwhelmed by his worrying thoughts. How could they stand up to someone with so much power? It was different with Voldemort, for the prophecy had foretold him as the one man who could defeat the Dark Lord, and thanks to the world's greatest wizard, he has. Dumbledore's supervision guided him along the way, smoothing his path, giving him the Deathly Hallows. Now, however, almost everything was reversed. No help - where could it come from? - no guidance, only a seemingly invincible adversary.

As the statues disappeared, the memory ended, Grindelwald and the Nameless sealed their alliance with a handshake that seemed friendly - Harry didn't know how sincere the handshake was.

'Did you find out anything interesting about our enemy?' The familiar voice of Professor Dumbledore spoke to him as he pulled himself out of the Pensieve.

'Nothing!' Harry complained. 'I couldn't even see how he fought, what he could do, because "quite by chance" the memory began where the duel had already ended.'

Dumbledore hummed and stroked his beard.

'That's really suspicious,' he growled under his moustache.

Harry sighed heavily, and threw the vial full with memory juice into a separate small pile, along with seven other vials.

'That was the last of the memories of Fyrmia Siebenke. And I couldn't find anything about Doris Crockford!'

He had looked up every name Prosper Cipollo had mentioned, but they had not led to the results he had expected, and this again proved Hermione's words, much to his annoyance. Of the two names he was sure of, Ursula Ulatov and Nettle Acerby, there were indeed many memories, but most of them Harry couldn't understand, because they were either in a foreign language or contained nothing of substance. He could find nothing about Rosamund Garlic, so Harry filed her only among the possible Faceless servants or other lords and ladies of the Fourth Tower. He also found three very lengthy memories of Yosomono Fujin, but all three consisted of a woman dressed in a Japanese kimono sitting at a desk writing books all day long.

Harry stared at the scattered bottles with his hands on his hips, and he was not at all pleased.

'Here are some more of these vials with the peeled off labels,' he pointed to a third pile. 'I have no idea what they are and who they are related to. Maybe Doris Crockford is among them, or the rest of these early memories... I don't know.'

He shook his head in annoyance and finally said what had been on his mind for some time:

'Maybe Hermione is right and it's a waste of time.'

Dumbledore leaned forward in his armchair, as if to get closer to his conversation partner.

'Did she really say that?' he asked in a curious tone.

'Yes,' Harry nodded, 'she thinks the Nameless left them for me because he knew I would steal them.'

He was surprised to see Dumbledore's eyes light up and smile as if they were discussing the solution to a pleasantly difficult school assignment.

'In that case, our adversary is particularly astute and would be a very good chess player,' he said. Then he must have seen the look on Harry's face, for his features immediately sobered and he cleared his throat. 'What do your instincts tell you, Harry?'

Harry felt that his intuition hadn't been working as well as usual for a while. Perhaps this was a result of the werewolf disease, as were many other things, including the occasional acute headaches and weakness, especially as the full moon approached. But if he shut them out of his mind, in the same way that he had learned to shut Voldemort out, to ignore him, he felt he could find a solution and change the events that were taking place.

'I think the memories can be important. I mean...' he looked up at the portrait, 'we did it with you, remember? When we were tracking Voldemort, the memories were the key.'

Dumbledore nodded with solemn seriousness.

'I agree, Harry. But, as you know, I am only a painting. I can only say that based on what I've done or thought in my life. You can hardly expect me to bore you with brilliant ideas like I used to.'

A sad smile appeared on the portrait-painted old man's face, which did not make it easy for Harry to withdraw as Ginny and now Dumbledore himself had suggested.

'I know, Professor...' he muttered, his head bowed as if ashamed, but then he thought of something else, and then he looked up at the painting again. 'But the past might be enough. I understand you knew this masked sorcerer - the Nameless.'

Dumbledore replied almost immediately:

'I did indeed meet him once, a long time ago, but there's nothing I can tell you about him that would help you. I went to see him about Grindelwald, but unfortunately...'

The professor made a grimace and left the end of the sentence open, but there was no need to finish. If the Nameless stepped into the service of Grindelwald, he was hardly going to help Dumbledore find his boss.

'I see,' said Harry, dejectedly. He had expected more than that.

'Now excuse me, but I think dear Minerva would like to speak to me. Ever since the Sorting Hat had disappeared, she's built up a veritable spy network of paintings in the school... Farewell, Harry!'

'Goodbye, Professor,' he said, but by the time he had, there was no sign of the painted figure.

Was it just an unfounded feeling, or did Dumbledore really leave his painting almost in flight, interrupting their conversation? Moreover, Ron had told him that McGonagall had long since given up looking for the Sorting Hat at the school, and had instead left it to the Aurors - Proudfoot and his partner - to find the school relic.

His thoughts were interrupted by Ginny's loud shouting:

'Harry! Dinner!' came a muffled voice from beyond the closed door.

He put away the Pensieve and the sorted memories, and the barely used notebook, in which he tried to jot down some useful information about the Nameless, but couldn't even fill the first page, and then he left the room, slamming the door a little harder than necessary behind him.

He was angry and disappointed. It had seemed so easy, the promise he had made to himself on the beach when he and Al had parted, when the boy had told him of the terrible plan Harry had unwittingly helped him with...

'Have you been looking at the memories again?' Hermione asked as she sat down at the dinner table.

Harry shrugged and preferred not to answer her. Hermione shook her head, but she didn't question the matter any further, which pleased Harry.

Ever since she had passed more or less judgement on the veracity of the memories, everyone had considered any further Pensieve-tours a waste of time, and Hermione had not forgotten to remind him of this, almost every single day at dinner when she and Ron came home from the Ministry. Harry felt he had to do something though, not just sit at home waiting for some miracle from heaven that Hermione would find a cure for the werewolf disease, or for the Nameless to change his mind and not take over the world.

Now and then it crossed his mind that he should take Michael Svetich seriously and ask him what he thought about capturing the Nameless and exposing the Fourth Tower, but whenever he brought it up, the two girls would radically withdraw.

'Don't take those morons seriously!' Hermione snorted when he mentioned it to her. 'They're out of their minds if they think they can just arrest Faceless. On top of that, they want to involve us in their stupid action... They should play with their own lives, not ours! But don't worry, we've told Mr Weasley, they'll be stopped soon, you can be sure of that...'

And then what? - Harry retorted in his thoughts, but he was now munching aloud in agreement on a bite of meatloaf. What if no one does anything? Ron and Hermione keeping an eye on the witches and wizards at the Ministry and dealing with house-elves and stolen jewellery won't stop the magical beings' extermination, the Muggles' war – or for Albus Severus Potter to turn into a mass murderer.

Harry knew very well that something had changed, something had broken in them since Nurmengard. Before, they hadn't been frightened by almost anything - hell, they'd stood up to the world's greatest dark wizard and destroyed the Horcruxes! Of course, he remembered well what that had led to: their arrogance and hubris over their victory had landed them in prison, but since then they seemed to have moved to the other extreme.

They were afraid to do anything - that was the truth. He could see it in their faces when he looked at them, that they were comfortable alone, the four of them together, in the safety of the Dumbledore House, where they were their own masters, untroubled by the outside world. That was why Hermione and Ginny had banished even the thought of going along with Svetich's plan, for they had already disturbed their peaceful solitude by intruding into the house, bringing in what they wanted to keep out. Hermione left the Nameless and Nurmengard problem at the Ministry, and at home they only talked about Harry's recovery or where to celebrate his birthday.

'Mrs Weasley asked who you'd like to invite for your birthday,' Hermione looked at him, completely oblivious to his heated mood.

But Harry didn't think about his birthday at all, his darker self went straight to the point of questioning the point of celebrating when everything was doomed to be destroyed anyway? How empty would a birthday party wrapped in frosting and coloured wrapping paper be with a sickly, hiding werewolf as the protagonist?

Ron stared at him over his plate with a quizzical look.

'I don't know...', Harry muttered, shrugging his shoulders, but trying to pretend that he had been thinking about this problem for hours. 'Hagrid for sure... And Teddy with Mrs Tonks - them definitely. But that's all we need... Don't get everybody together!' he looked up at them with a sudden look of mischief.

'The twenty-first birthday is a significant event in a wizard's life, Harry,' Hermione shook her head.

Both Ron and Ginny nodded their heads knowingly, only Harry felt it was some kind of an empty excuse to sneak the whole family in.

'Why is that?' he asked unfriendly.

'Because, you jerk, our magic grows until we're twenty-one. Usually, by the age of seven, it's been decided whether you have any magic at all, and twenty-one's as far as it can develop. Not after that,' Ginny explained with a patient smile.

'So you'll find out how much magical potential you have by the age of twenty-one,' Hermione added, and Ron did his part to explain:

'Twenty-one - the three sevens...' he drew in the air with his fork and some potato leftovers. Harry sent him a grim look.

'Thanks, but I can still count.'

After dinner was over and the table was cleared, Hermione took out the deck of exploding snap she had used the night before, in a very good mood, with a bottle of butterbeer. Harry's attention, however, did not miss Ron's careful movement as he tried to slip on his travelling robes without attracting attention. When their eyes met, to Harry's surprise, the boy beckoned with his head as if inviting him to get ready.

Harry gave him a questioning look, to which Ron nodded firmly, then beckoned with his head again. Harry slowly pushed his chair back and stood up from the table.

'We're not playing,' Ron finally said from the coat hanger, when Harry asked him what he was up to.

Hermione's card-dealing hand froze in mid-air.

'Why, what are you planning?' she asked with wide brown eyes. Ron answered without hesitation:

'Harry and I are going to go out for a bit. Right?' he looked at his surprised friend.

'Um... Yes?' replied Harry, uncertain.

Hermione puffed herself up in an instant, with similar efficiency to Ginny, except that the latter's hair didn't stand up in a terrifying hundred different angles, as if struck by lightning.

'RON!' she yelled sternly. 'I don't think I'm hearing right! Have you forgotten how it ended the last time "you were out"? Besides, it's night time, Harry shouldn't be out there wandering around!'

Harry knew, however, that Ron had learned to handle such situations well, with his unwavering stubbornness over the years.

'We are not going to wonder around. We apparate back and forth. Nothing can happen.'

Now his sister was looking at him with flashing eyes, especially when Harry started to get dressed - she wondered what Ron was planning.

'I see. Like last time, right?' Ginny said in a voice shaking with anger. Ron, however, just nodded.

'That was different, and the Svetich company didn't mean any harm anyway...'

'That's not the point! Yes, we were lucky with Svetich, but if they could follow you so easily, the Faceless could do so even more!'

Harry felt he would rather clash with a group of Faceless than be locked up in this house for another minute as some shameful secret hidden from the world. Of course, deep down, he was well aware that Ginny and Hermione were only worried about him - rightly so, but they couldn't understand what he was feeling, they could step outside the house and not be locked in with their own thoughts all day.

Ron was already in a shouting match with his sister and his girlfriend before Harry had his coat on.

'Shall I tell you why we won't be afraid of being found by any Faceless?' he asked in a challenging tone.

'Well, let's hear it! Why?!' shouted Hermione back.

'Because we are about to arrest some Faceless!'

Ginny and Hermione fell silent and stared at Ron, along with Harry.

'Are you serious...'

'Yes, I'm serious,' Ron cut his sister off. 'We're going to search the Selwyn house because those two bastards were probably hiding there - we got a tip-off that you and I were seen there a few days ago,' he pointed at himself and his girlfriend alternately. 'And I'd thank you not to start with your preaching about safety and irresponsibility and all that nonsense...'

The two girls just gasped.

'This isn't a preaching, Ron, and being safe isn't stupid,' Hermione said desperately as she found her voice again. 'Is there going to be any back-up at all, or are you going to go and play Rambo on your own?!'

'What is Rambo?' Ron looked at her with a strange grimace.

Harry patted his friend's arm, indicating that it would be better if they just left and let the girls fume. He opened the door for Ron and they stepped out into the cool, caressing summer night.

'Sure, go ahead! But don't come back today!' shrieked Hermione after them. 'We don't need you bringing here any maniacs hunting for us! Sleep where you like!'

'I love you too, darling,' Ron waved, but Harry felt like a coward on the inside for trying to avoid their eyes.

Ginny trotted after the two boys and slammed the door wildly behind them, they could even hear a plate fall and shatter with a crash from outside. Harry and Ron looked at each other, but then they took each other's outstretched arms and apparated. After the unpleasant journey was over, Ron picked up where he left off.

'Ten years have gone by, we've finished the Horcruxes and Voldemort, we've been to Nurmengard, but one thing remains the same: Hermione Granger still drives me mad.'

Harry laughed to himself.

'You haven't changed much either!' he pointed at his friend. 'You can't stand it when she's right. Although I think we're all the same with that...'

'She is wrong!' Ron was stubborn. 'Not this time, that's for sure!'

Harry frowned at him.

'You seem very sure of yourself.'

Ron didn't look him in the eye, just cleared his throat, as if he was embarrassed or didn't want to answer Harry's question. Harry waited patiently for an explanation, however, so he finally answered reluctantly.

'I didn't want you to be locked up in that house any longer.'

Harry was surprised and suddenly didn't know what to say, but Ron continued:

'Just like... I mean, I remember when...' He sighed, closed his eyes for a moment, then said in one rush, 'Sirius was locked up in his mother's house and he nearly went mad. I don't want that to happen to you.'

Ron had hit the nail on its head; now that he was locked up in the Dumbledore House, he was beginning to understand more and more what must have been troubling Sirius when he couldn't leave Grimmauld Place - he felt useless, a drag, a target for the dark sorcerers because of his disease and the bloody wand he possessed, but he couldn't help it, he could only let Ron and Hermione investigate the Faceless. He had hated being ignored all his life, and was reminded of his years at Dursley's before Hogwarts and the torments of his fifth year.

But he had no idea that anyone else had noticed this, especially not Ron, who is usually completely blind and insensitive to such things. Still, it seemed more likely that Hermione would be the one to keep him under house arrest while his friend tried to drag him out of his gloomy daily life and make him feel that he wasn't completely useless.

'That's nice of you, Ron...' Harry smiled gratefully. Ron shrugged and spread his arms.

'You are my best friend!'

With that, he considered the matter closed and beckoned with his head, indicating that the Selwyn House was waiting for them.

They continued along the road, passing hedge fences and brick houses, and Harry found himself feeling as well again as he had before their trip to the Merry Hog. But the ominously growing moon shone brightly in the sky, and as soon as he looked up he felt weak and ill.

'But please don't think Hermione doesn't see what you're going through,' Ron suddenly spoke again, continuing the conversation he had concluded earlier.

Harry nodded, wondering whether Ron has started using Legilimens, like his girlfriend.

'She spends half her time at the Ministry library trying to find the antidote to werewolfism - Dad said that she asked him for a ministerial permission to look into the Forbidden Knowledge.'

'Forbidden Knowledge?' Harry frowned.

'The most brutal dark magic that wouldn't even fit in the locked section of the Hogwarts library... At least that's what Hermione said - that's why it's called the Forbidden Knowledge Vault. She came in to see me the other day with about three volumes of books sewn in human skin - you can imagine the look on my face when she put them on my desk, next to my breakfast sandwich...'

Harry laughed, and the corner of Ron's mouth twitched.

'And did she get anywhere with those books?' Harry asked, his tone indifferently interested, but deep down he was very curious to know what she had found.

Ron shook his head.

'The problem starts with that the book is written in invisible runic script and can only be read if you offer it blood...'

Harry looked at him with his mouth agape.

'I've always said that these dark wizards were mental... But Hermione didn't give up, so...'

'Don't tell me she did it with her own blood!' Harry exclaimed, fearing that Hermione's obsession and thirst for knowledge had crossed a certain line, but Ron's words confirmed his fears:

'She said something like it was a necessary sacrifice for success, or something like that...'

'Sometimes she sounds exactly like Dumbledore,' Harry muttered, suddenly remembering the old headmaster in Voldemort's cave, giving his own blood to the secret door as a sacrifice for entry.

'I was thinking of proposing to her.'

Harry paused and looked at his friend, eyes wide, to make sure he had heard correctly. Ron said it so suddenly and unexpectedly, as if the confession had been brewing inside him for some time, and now it suddenly burst out.

'I actually asked her to marry me once before, but that was when we were alone in Nurmengard and we thought we were going to die,' he explained, a little shakily. 'I only asked her in jest, and she answered in kind, but I've been thinking of asking her seriously for a while now... I've already chosen the ring at d'Tshillamm on Diagon Alley, but I just haven't had the money yet, and I don't want to borrow it from George...'

Ron's ears were as red as his hair, and it had been a long time since Harry had seen him so excited and nervous about Hermione.

'Wow...' he gaped uncertainly. 'Ron, that's... Well, I'm happy for you.'

'Nothing is for certain!' Ron protested, almost frightened, as if too afraid of disappointment. 'She might say no...'

No matter how hard Harry thought about it, he could not imagine Hermione saying no to Ron's marriage proposal. After all, they were already behaving like a well-practised married couple: always bickering and arguing, but also complementing each other.

'Why would she say no? She loves you!' Harry tried to give Ron courage. But Ron shook his head.

'She might think what Mum thought about Bill and Fleur: that we're too young for this.' His deep sigh was like one of those who live with world-weariness. 'Sometimes I think she tries too hard to fulfill Mum's expectations. We've arrived.'

Harry suddenly realised that the mansion where their very first search had been carried out with Dawlish was indeed standing tall before them - he also noticed that his former tutor was waiting outside the gate, just as he had been back then.

John Dawlish was thinner and more haggard than when Harry had last seen him in Nurmengard (or, actually, it was the Nameless who had laid a trap for him in the form of Dawlish), and his military-cut hair was greyer. Harry was surprised to see Dawlish here at the search - somehow he didn't think he was the best person to share the information they had gotten from Mundungus Fletcher.

In the house next door, one of the watchdogs barked wildly as they passed, as if he had gone mad, his mouth almost foaming and his bloodshot eyes were fixed on Harry.

As they drew closer, Dawlish's brow furrowed.

'Mr Weasley, what does this supposed to mean?' he asked, in his usual formal manner, which always made Harry think of him as a pompous, rule- and law-abiding file clerk.

'He must not have had any dinner,' Ron poked his thumb at the guard dog, who now began to howl in a drawn-out manner, and his owner stormed out of the house with a broom in hand, raging.

Dawlish gave his colleague a sneering look.

'I'm talking about Mr Potter.'

'Don't worry, he won't howl,' Ron continued in a flippant tone that tended to become regular in Dawlish's presence, perhaps to compensate for his impossibly dry manner. 'Harry is present as an expert advisor, helping us to scout the scene.'

'Mr Weasley, I would like to remind you that civilians are not allowed to participate in an ongoing investigation under paragraph thirteen of the Code of Investigation, which...'

'All right, that's enough,' Ron fanned himself impatiently to silence Dawlish. 'Here's the damn thing... this is an authorisation from Commander Robards that Harry can be present at the scene.'

Dawlish fiercely snatched the parchment from his hand and read it over, letter by letter, with eyes as piercing as if he were reading his own dismissal, or at least a prospectus for the end of the world.

'See?' grinned Ron. 'Everything is perfectly legal and rule-conform. Are you happy now?'

It was quite clear from Dawlish that he was not happy, but he had no other objections to the matter. He turned his back on Harry and Ron and entered the tall wrought iron gate that opened onto the long path leading to the Selwyn House.

When he was out of earshot, Harry grabbed Ron's arm.

'You didn't tell him anything about Mundungus, did you?' he whispered in Ron's ear.

'Don't worry,' Ron hissed back, 'I told him we got the tip from one of Dung's accomplices in the Merry Hog.'

Harry raised his eyebrows.

'A nameless informant?'

'Sort of...'

'Good idea,' he patted Ron on the shoulder, and they followed Dawlish into the house.

The building was nowhere near the size of the Malfoy mansion, but it was clearly the home of a wealthy, Pureblood family of wizards. It was a two-storey, gloomy, imposing colonnaded house - Harry thought that was what court buildings must look like. Dawlish used his wand to remove the purple ribbon in front of the door, which read "AUROR COMMAND - NO ENTRY", and opened the door.

They were greeted by a spacious area with white treads, leading directly into a large living room with a fireplace, from where double stairs led upstairs on the right and left. It was a mess; the Aurors who had searched the house after the war had not spared the furnishings or the wall panelling, even Harry and Ron had rudely rammed out drawers and ripped up the flooring when they had first been here.

Dawlish stopped in the middle of the living room and lit a light at the end of his wand. Harry and Ron followed his example as a white light flooded the room, and at that moment Harry didn't understand why the search had to be done in the middle of the night and couldn't be done during the day.

'Our task is known: to find a hidden room, a secret place where the fugitives could hide or stash the belongings stolen from the Diggory house,' Dawlish explained. 'I advise advanced caution. Mr Weasley, stay close to Mr Potter. I would point out that under paragraph twenty-seven b) of the Code of Investigation, untrained Aurors, but officially authorised civilians, are not allowed on the premises unattended.'

How can he speak so much in one breath in that monotone voice? - ran through Harry's mind.

'He's got Auror training!' Ron insisted, but Harry was sure that Dawlish had some sort of rules for that too.

'Mr Potter spending six months at headquarters with his feet dangling comes not even close to receiving an Auror training, Mr Weasley.'

Harry felt this somewhat justified, but Ron's ears were reddening again - this time with anger. He himself thought he hadn't really learned anything of substance during all that training, only that all those rules and laws were there to tie the hands of those who were investigating dark sorcerers and protect those who were trying to sweep a murder under the carpet... He was still upset when he thought of Kingsley lying to everyone and trying to obstruct the investigation into Ciaran, but he reminded himself that he was currently here to find the people who had killed the minister. As serious as Kingsley's crime was, he didn't deserve to die for it - especially not that kind of death.

When he closed his eyes, Harry could still see the image of the minister sitting handcuffed to the chair where he had tied him, his charred chest smoking, his head hanging back, lifeless...

'Is it you again?'

The unpleasant shrieking sound came from one of the paintings of one of the long dead Selwyns.

'We are so sorry to bother you...' whispered Ron sarcastically.

'Leave my family's home alone! Go away!'

Dawlish didn't bother with the painting, but Ron showed him the papers.

'We have a search warrant,' he said, holding up the documents.- 'So relax...'

The portrait, however, did not relax. He stuck his head up and proudly pulled himself out with his last century gold embroidered robes and looked down on Ron and Harry like they were worms.

'You can't just search the ancestral Selwyn family home on the basis of some ministry papers! Mudbloods and bloodtraitor scum must not trespass here!'

Ron was getting fed up with the painting.

'You'd better shut up or I'm going to seriously vandalise!'

Dawlish muttered something unintelligible as he worked his magic on the wide sofa.

'Leave him alone...' Harry tried to calm him down, but Ron raised his wand with a sly grin on his face.

'Perhaps we start our search behind your painting. What do you say, Harry?'

'You're not going to find anything there, Weasley.'

They all spun at the sound, and saw the figure standing in the large hallway. A pale, longish face, blond hair and frosty blue eyes - Draco Malfoy looked exactly as he had the last time they had seen him, and the same careless contemptuous grin sat on his face.

'What are you doing here?' Ron snarled at him unkindly, probably forgetting that Malfoy had been in Nurmengard - not willingly, of course. Harry, however, had not forgotten.

'I invited Mr Malfoy,' Dawlish announced nonchalantly. 'Mr Malfoy, you're late.'

The boy came into the living room, and looked around as if returning to an place known for a long a time, and with mild interest to see what had changed.

'You should be glad I came at all! I'm not your thrall!' he snapped at Dawlish in his usual manner, but the Auror remained calm.

'I would remind you that you do remain a suspect in the burglary of Ottery St. Catchpole on April 8, 2000, for multiple counts of kidnapping and arson.'

'I didn't set that place on fire, Moebius did!' protested Malfoy angrily.

Ron wasn't much calmer than he was, and fed up with the exchange between the Auror and their former classmate, he grabbed the man's shoulder and turned him towards him.

'How's that, Dawlish?! You can invite this wretch, but I can't call in Harry?'

Dawlish continued to sweep his colleague's hand off his shoulder with infuriating calmness.

'Mr Potter had not been to Selwyn Manor prior to our previous search, so it is difficult for me to see how he could be in possession of information or value to us. However...' he nodded measuredly at the blond boy standing with his hands in his pockets, 'Mr. Malfoy has been a regular guest here in the past.'

'Mansion...' murmured Malfoy mockingly. 'More like a shed.'

'Have you been a guest here a lot?' Harry looked at him surprised.

Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly and turned his back to them, looking at the family tree hanging on one wall, slightly smaller than the tapestry hanging on the wall of the Black house.

'Irony was my girlfriend for a few years,' said Malfoy, staring at the name at the very end of a branch of the family tree.

Harry and Ron looked at each other in amazement; Malfoy had never talked about a girlfriend before.

'Your girlfriend?'

'Yeah,' the boy nodded boredly, and then a sly light flashed in his eyes. 'I told you I like blondes. It's just a shame she's turned so ugly...'

The comment was directed at Ron, who looked back at him with a twisted expression of anger when he understood the reference.

'You son of a...!'

'We don't have time for this, Mr Weasley,' Dawlish interrupted, stepping between them, preventing anyone from casting a curse on the other. 'Mr Malfoy, I'm waiting for the information.'

'What information?' the named one sneered. 'I told you I didn't know this house that well. I only saw the bedroom...'

Harry rolled his eyes and Malfoy laughed at his own comment.

'We don't want to know anything about that,' Dawlish shook his head. 'Tell us about places that might hide secret doors, hidden passages or compartments.'

Malfoy had another question to this:

'If you're looking for a secret room, why don't you ask that old pervert Selwyn?'

'We tried,' replied Ron instead of Dawlish. 'He is resisting Veritaserum.'

Harry was shocked - he didn't know many people who could resist the strongest truth serum. Malfoy was visibly surprised at this too, as he covered his mouth.

'That lout?'

Dawlish, however, was fed up with his guest's constant diversion.

'Let's get back to our task, shall we? Where should we start our search?'

The blond boy immediately came up with the answer:

'I have no idea.'

'Try to think harder,' persisted Dawlish. 'I would remind you that it was you who came to Arthur Weasley, asking him to pardon you for what you did.'

'What?' cried Ron.

Harry wondered about that, and even more that Ron knew nothing about it. Malfoy asking Mr Weasley for a pardon? That was as unlikely as Hermione sending a Christmas card to Rita Skeeter.

'We have made your freedom conditional upon your assistance in the investigation of the Nameless,' Dawlish explained further. 'If you want to lead a normal life, as you have told me, then this is your chance to prove yourself.'

Ron was still reeling from the shock he heard about Malfoy. Harry himself had found Dawlish's words strange, especially that the boy wanted to live a normal life - so far he hadn't got the impression that the ex-Slytherin was too attracted to ordinary life... more like dark magic and masks.

Malfoy took a long sigh, then walked slowly around the room with his hands in his pockets. Harry, Ron and Dawlish waited impatiently for him to say something, but Malfoy seemed in no hurry.

'Don't get caught in the rush!' Ron said when he had had enough of the boy's silence.

'I'm thinking, Weasley!' snapped Malfoy.

Ron muttered something like "think faster then", but the blond boy stopped listening. He walked around the living room, looking at the paintings and touching the wall in a few places. Harry wasn't sure whether he was examining them in the same way Dumbledore had searched for the entrance to Voldemort's lair, or whether he was simply messing with them.

'At our place everything was hidden in a secret chamber under the lounge floor,' he said at last, 'where my father had kept the poisons and the Death Eater mask. He had several protective charms that worked like the ones at Gringotts - if an unauthorised person tried to open the trapdoor, he'd be sucked in.'

Harry frowned.

'Do you think we should be looking for something like that here?'

'I don't know...' shrugged Malfoy. 'The Selwyns weren't the sort to keep poisons and cursed things in the house. Old Selwyn was a deviant pig who trusted his wand alone.'

'But he still had to keep his Death Eater stuff somewhere, right?' Ron objected.

'He didn't necessarily have to hide it,' Malfoy shook his head. 'He could transfigure the mask and keep it on the shelf like a...' (picking up a small shiny box from the mantelpiece) 'like a snuff box.'

Dawlish then spoke in a cold, formal tone:

'We are aware of that, Mr Malfoy. If you want the pardon, you'll have to do better than that.'

Malfoy became red with rage in a moment, and he threw the snuff box to the ground, which shattered on the floor.

'Then arrest me, you half-wit, because I told you I don't know this bloody house!'

'So you refuse to help?' Dawlish raised an eyebrow, but Harry quickly interjected when he saw the direction the Auror was trying to take Malfoy's situation.

'Wait a minute!' he shouted. 'He tried, don't you see? It's not his fault he doesn't know every hole in this house!'

He didn't know himself why he was defending Malfoy, and as he caught Ron's glance, he saw his friend looking at him like thinking he was an idiot. Just like that time long ago, after Voldemort's downfall, at the trial where Malfoy and his parents had been acquitted at his request.

Dawlish was staring at him with a look people would at a child talking nonsense as well.

'You know, Mr Potter, that's why you got yourself fired from the Ministry. Because you think like Dumbledore. "He tried..." Trying doesn't count. I don't care how much Mr. Malfoy tried to help. If he couldn't help, he'll go straight to the courtroom and from there, no doubt, to Azkaban.'

'But...'

'No but. Grow up, Mr Potter, because with that attitude you'll get nowhere! You have no respect for the law, you brazenly bend the rules and you make a mockery of the Ministry of Magic. I have already told Minister Shacklebolt and Commander Robards that you should not be allowed anywhere near any office, but they would not listen.'

Harry rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling; he was sick and tired of Dawlish's drivel, and thought that as rarely as he heard such a torrent of words, the more he would like to shut the wizard's mouth with a well-directed silencing spell.

'Thank goodness people care about your opinion, Dawlish,' Ron growled sarcastically at his gloomy colleague, but Harry was no longer paying any attention to the Auror.

'Yes, I noticed that,' Dawlish looked at him bored. 'But perhaps you should start thinking about where you ended up the last time you flouted the Ministry's regulations... In fact, in your rightful place: prison.'

Harry, as he looked up at the ceiling, stayed that way. The once beautifully gleaming, now cobwebbed chandeliers hanging overhead caught his attention, with brand new, unlit candles in them.

'Tell me, Mr Dawlish...' he said to the wizard when he finally stopped talking. 'How many times has this house been searched by Auror Command?'

The wizard sighed impatiently.

'Three times,' he replied, not too enthusiastically. 'Why another pointless question?'

Harry ignored the comment, instead raising his glowing wand higher up so that the light enveloped the crystal chandelier.

'And how many times did you pass blindly under the blue candles?'

Ron, Dawlish and Malfoy looked up. Now they all saw what Harry had noticed, the blue candles attached to the chandelier holders, which he himself had only ever seen in two places: in the Peverell House, by the large map showing the location of the wizarding schools, and in the rotating room of the Ministry of Magic, where the candles told them the correct way to go within the Department of Mysteries.

'Truth candles. Do you know what that is, or should I explain?' Harry grinned at Dawlish.

Voldemort, who he had brought back from the dead, told him how these candles work: they form wax from someone's memories, which can then reveal to the user any secrets that would otherwise be impossible to write down or protected from unauthorised persons by powerful charms.

Dawlish grunted in annoyance.

'You don't have to explain...' he growled under his breath, and Harry was pleased to see the wizard's head turning red from fury.

He would have liked to savour the situation, making further comments about the Auror's abilities, but he knew they had more important things to do. He didn't wait for Dawlish's instructions or the reaction of Ron, who was also smiling in wonder, and lit the answering candles one by one, and when their flickering blue flames cast a ghostly glow across the living room, he asked the first question that came to mind, and the most obvious:

'Show me the secret room!'

Harry was waiting with crossed fingers, sincerely hoping that there really was such a place in the building. But the flames of the candles did not move.

'So there really is no secret hiding place,' Malfoy muttered.

'Or maybe they didn't pour the candles that way to answer such a question,' Harry objected, still hoping, and gave a new command to the flames: 'Show me where Irony and Moebius are!'

Again, nothing happened.

'That's not it either...' Harry whispered, annoyed, and he was already thinking of another question. He was beginning to feel when he was trying to get into the Room of Requirements to expose Malfoy. Again he was sure he was right, that the candles were the key to the solution, but Dawlish was almost enjoying his failure, and was already voicing his doubts.

'This will get us nowhere. We have to find it another way - if there is even anything. I don't think...'

'I'll try one more thing,' Ron cut him off, looking up at the chandelier. 'Show me what was moved here in the last week!'

Suddenly, the peacefully dancing candle flames started to move, and like tiny fire snakes, they migrated to one of the walls, next to Malfoy, where they precisely carved out one of the large bricks. Ron slapped his palms together in satisfaction.

'There you go!'

Dawlish did not rejoice, but walked to the wall, and with his wand, he put out the flames, and then floated the brick out of its place. The heavy block of stone slid out of its place with a loud scraping sound, then floated away, and finally settled on the coffee table. Harry had no time to warn Dawlish - the coffee table collapsed under the weight of the brick the moment the levitating charm had released it, and now lay on top of a pile of shattered wood.

Neither of them made a comment, but Malfoy covered his face with the palm of his hand, and Ron turned away, trying to hold back his laughter with a face as if his stomach were in severe distress.

Harry peered into the hollow left by the brick, which was much deeper than the space the stone had occupied, and the darkened end was not visible. He shone his wand into it, but saw no jewels gleaming as he had expected, nor an entrance to some secret room where the fugitives might hide; the light of the wand fell on some piece of cloth lying motionless at the end of the passage. Ron also peeked in, but he couldn't make out what the hole was hiding either.

'We should get it out of there... Accio!'

The rag-like thing flew out of the hole, and only that, nothing else, no stolen treasure, no other Ron and Hermione hiding. The rag landed in his hand, and all four of them stared at it in shock.

'Hey, but this is...!'

'The Sorting Hat,' Malfoy finished instead. 'I read in the newspaper that it was stolen by students at the end of the school year.'

Dawlish shook his head.

'It seems they were not students after all...'

'Now, wait a minute!' Ron put his hand up, completely confused by their discovery. 'The Selwyns would be the ones who stole the Sorting Hat? Why would they do that? What good is it, apart from sorting students into Houses?'

Harry would have liked to have had a decent idea, but he was completely clueless.

'I have no idea...'

The burn marks that Voldemort's spell had left on the Sorting Hat when he tried to destroy it - while it was still on Neville's head - were still visible. Apart from that, it was the same worn headgear as before, which continued to do its job.

'This brings us to a whole new development,' Dawlish muttered thoughtfully. 'I have to make a detailed report to Commander Robards and Minister Weasley. It seems the two Faceless fugitives have made their way into Hogwarts.'

Harry and Ron looked at each other; they guessed that such a task would not be too difficult for Irony and Moebius, being Faceless, it was what they did best.

'The Nameless' desire is to get Hogwarts for the Fourth Tower,' Malfoy said. 'He has made several references to the importance of Hogwarts, and if he succeeds in his plan, the school will be his personal reward.'

'His reward?' Harry frowned.

'Yes, that's what he always called it.'

Harry remembered that the Nameless had told McGonagall in detail that he would return to Hogwarts in her image, which he had once tried to win over for the inner circle of dark sorcerers. After all, he had tried once before, under Phineas Nigellus, to build a whole new tower for Hogwarts, but Dumbledore and Madam Marchbanks had thwarted his plans and the Nameless had to flee.

'Then the theft of the Sorting Hat seems to be part of some larger plan,' Dawlish concluded unnecessarily. 'In any case, it is for the Minister to decide what happens next... as well as Mr Malfoy's fate,' he glanced at the blond boy.

Malfoy looked at Dawlish; Harry and Ron waited silently to see what the Auror would say - neither of them had any say in the matter, although Harry still felt that Dawlish inherently hated anyone who didn't follow the rules and regulations of the Ministry of Magic, even when it came to going to the bathroom.

'You are currently staying with a friend, Mr Dominic Greengrass, am I correct, Mr Malfoy?'

The boy nodded with his mouth closed.

'I would ask that you do not leave your temporary residence until Arthur Weasley's decision on your fate takes effect...' Here he gave Ron and Harry a sideways glance that could not be described as friendly. 'Although I don't think the Minister's decision will come as a surprise to either of us.'

Ron couldn't help but smile, but Malfoy wasn't sure what he was supposed to interpret from Dawlish's comment. Harry, for his part, knew well that the Auror was aware, Malfoy had nothing to fear.

'Mr Weasley, take the Sorting Hat to headquarters today and deliver it to the evidence room.'

'We will...' Ron replied, not too enthusiastically. 'We can't sleep at home anyway...'

He flashed a grimace-like half-smile, then just pressed the Hat onto Harry's head, which still slid on his forehead. Would Godric Gryffindor have had such a big head? - Harry thought.

To his surprise, a thin voice then answered his question: Not even close! In fact, he was quite a small man...

'Can I leave now?' Malfoy asked impatiently, even though he had been in the house for barely more than half an hour.

'I think it is unnecessary for us to remain here any longer,' nodded Dawlish. 'Mr Weasley's question was clear and plain, there is nothing else in the house of importance to us except the Sorting Hat.'

'Finally...' muttered Malfoy, and he and Dawlish both started out of the house. Ron nodded to Harry.

'Come on, let's go to the office.'

But then the room and the boy's outline faded before Harry, and the disembodied voice was in his head again:

'Ah... Harry "just-not-into-Slytherin" Potter!' said the Sorting Hat. 'You haven't been under my brim for a long time, boy!'

Harry was caught off guard by the address, and wasn't sure what to say to the Hat. The last time he put it on his head was when he asked for help against the Basilisk down in the Chamber of Secrets. Perhaps he could thank it for its help eight years ago?

'Ehhh...'

'Don't even bother to say anything meaningful! I know you're not very smart, that's why I didn't put you into Ravenclaw...' the Hat twitted him. 'And you're welcome for the help, but next time I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't pretend to be dead while I'm being set on fire... Well, enough of the patter, let the fun begin! I got something for you...'

'For me?' Harry asked aloud, but the next moment a sharp pain shot through the back of his head, making him see stars - it felt like someone had hit him over the head with a stone.

'Ouch!'

He knocked the Hat off his aching head, and then the object responsible for the pain dropped at his feet: a yellowish, glittering, jeweled necklace.

Dawlish and Malfoy had long since left the house and hadn't looked back, but Ron turned to him with a frightened, worried expression.

'Harry? Are you all right?'

'Yes, of course, just...' Harry bent down and picked up the necklace, but before he could look at it more closely, something even more unexpected happened:

'MARK MY WORDS...!'

He was so frightened when he heard the Sorting Hat speak aloud in his hand that he threw it away.

The tattered headgear landed on a chair and lay there motionless for a few moments while Harry and Ron stared at it, mouths agape - then the tear above the brim opened like a mouth, and the Sorting Hat burst into a song as if they'd just started the sorting ceremony:

Mark my words, you peoples of Hogwarts, you must not be reproaching!
Hurry, for the bloody doom is approaching.

Nameless danger is lurking at Hogwarts' houses,
But help is just close by and should rouse us.

Honest Hufflepuff's gift, you hold in your hands,
Guard it well, for your protection it stands!

Valiant Gryffindor's courage, is what you need,
His gift, the watchful eye will find quickly indeed.

Wise Ravenclaw rewards those with a sharp mind,
At the one she likes most among you, her gift you'll find!

Cunning Slytherin may not like you much,
Yet one of you may find his gift by getting with Muggles in touch.

The four gifts of the four houses may appear humble,
But before them, the mightiest power shall crumble!

These fabulous treasures belong only to heroes from Hogwarts' history,
And can turn ugly defeat into glorious victory!

The song ended, and the Hat fell silent, the rift closed, and moved no more. The audience of two fell into a stunned silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Ron gaped like a beached fish and Harry repeated the words of the song to himself, trying to burn them into his memory. "The bloody doom is approaching... Hufflepuff's gift... the mightiest power shall crumble..."

He would have appreciated it a lot if he could think of a reasonable explanation for what had just happened, and apparently Ron felt likewise, but he expressed his perplexity through aggression.

'What was that?!' he snarled wildly at the Sorting Hat. 'Hey, you lame cap, I'm talking to you! What was that song? Answer me, you hear?!'

He picked up and began to shake the worn headgear like a rag, fanning it in the air, but nothing - the Sorting Hat remained silent.

Eventually he must have got tired of being shaken around, because suddenly it heated up, glowing like embers, and this time Ron threw it away, wailing.

Harry wasn't watching, looking only at the necklace in his hand, which shone yellow like topaz. He knew exactly whose jewel it was, but he couldn't understand how Ciaran Diggory's mother's necklace had ended up in the stolen Sorting Hat...