Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Warnings: character death(s), HBP spoilers

CHAPTER FIVE

12 Grimmauld Place was as grubby and dusty as Harry remembered. On tip-toe, so as not to wake up Mrs. Black, he, Ron and Hermione climbed up the stairs as quietly as they could, whispering to each other. After much effort on Harry's part, he finally recalled the locket that Ron and Hermione spoke of, although he could not, for the life of him, remember what it looked like, for there had been quite a number of strange and dark objects to be found in the house. The locket just didn't stand out in his memory, not like the music box, which, Harry recalled, nearly put everybody to sleep, until Ginny came to her senses and slammed the lid shut.

"Do you remember where we found it last time?" Harry whispered, glancing around once they reached the top of the staircase, shushing Hermione as she began humming a song by Celestina Warbeck.

Ron shrugged in response to Harry's question. "We'll just have to ransack the place," he whispered back. "Unless Hermione remembers where?"

Hermione, who had taken up humming again, shook her head, pointing at the nearest room to her. "I'll take this one," she said, while Ron muttered darkly about how she was becoming more like his mother.

They went to separate rooms to search. While rummaging through a wardrobe in the room Sirius had once kept Buckbeak in, Harry felt somewhat peeved with himself, but also rather shocked, to think that a piece of Voldemort's soul could have been kept in a place where he had spent most of his summer holidays in during the previous year. A place where his godfather had spent holed up in, not able to go out in case someone saw him ...

And Harry felt something within him stir, as his eyes began to burn. The thought of Sirius ... he felt weak, and somewhat embarrassed (despite the fact that he was in the room by himself) that a warm tear had begun trickling down his face, dropping off his chin. He remembered Dumbledore saying something about how it was a sad ending to what ought to have been a happy, and long, relationship ...

A second tear made its way down his cheek, as his thoughts turned to Dumbledore, and Harry wiped it away furiously. He wasn't going to cry, hewasn't ...

"Harry?"

Giving his face a quick rub to make sure it was dry, Harry whirled around, and saw Hermione standing at the door, her hands stained grey from dust. "We've looked everywhere," she said anxiously, "but we can't seen to find it, it's imperative that we remember what we did with it last time ..."

She trailed off, looking closely at Harry's face. Harry stared back, hoping that she didn't suspect anything.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

"Fine," Harry mumbled back, and then he shut the drawer he had been looking through. "I haven't quite finished with this room yet, but I haven't come up with anything so far."

"Let me help you," Hermione said, and the two of them worked through the rest of the room. Harry could feel Hermione's eyes watching him, and he knew that she didn't believe him when he told her that he was 'fine', but he went on as though he didn't notice.

Ron poked his head into the room a few minutes later, asking, "Any luck?"

"It's not here," Hermione said, dusting herself off. She sneezed as a cloud of dust hid her from view. A few seconds later, when she was visible again, Hermione coughed, and said, "Ron, are you sure you can't remember what we did with the locket last time?"

Looking annoyed, Ron snapped, "If I remembered, do you think I would have wasted my time ransacking this place? And look at me!" He made a gesture to the robes he was wearing, which were stained grey and brown. "This place is filthy!"

Harry didn't listen as the two continued to bicker; the first lead to a Horcrux turned out to be a dead end until he could figure out, or remember, what happened to the locket. His heart sank as the disappointment settled in; his first attempt to find a Horcrux had been a failure, and he was glad that Dumbledore and Sirius weren't there to see it.


The house on Spinner's End was deadly quiet. Draco Malfoy was thankful for the silence--he needed time to think. Snape's words to him, Draco realised, had made plenty of sense, but changing sides was a risky business all the same. And did he really want to spy for the other side?

Draco didn't know.

It had been a couple of months since Snape had had that awkward talk with him, but Draco still hadn't made up his mind. He could tell that his protector was now beginning to worry, but that didn't change anything at all. No matter how much he wanted to make a decision, Draco was--he was quite reluctant to admit--too afraid to make a life-changing decision, and it was just easier for him, at the moment, to sit on the fence.

Suddenly, Malfoy sat up straight in his bed, realising that he had been seventeen for more than a month, and he hadn't known. Now he was of age, but Draco didn't feel any different--he still felt the same as he had when he was sixteen, still afraid for his life, for his family, afraid ...

There were so many reasons why Draco shouldn't switch sides. For one, it meant grovelling at Potter's feet, begging him to believe that he really wanted to help him, that he didn't want to serve the Dark Lord ... and despite the dire circumstances, Draco didn't want to let Potter, of all people, have this kind of power over him. But it wasn't only his pride that made him hesitant. He hadn't any idea how one went about being a spy, and though he knew he could count on Snape to help him, Draco knew that being a spy was a dangerous position, and that often, spies couldn't count on having the trust of those who were on the same side. Snape was a living example. Only Dumbledore had trusted him, and everyone else had remained wary, trusting Dumbledore's judgement, but also keeping a lookout, just in case ...

And spies got themselves into nasty situations where, whatever they did, the outcome wouldn't be pleasant. Malfoy thought about Snape's face, contorted with pain and disgust, when he uttered the spell that killed Dumbledore. Snape hadn't wanted to kill the only man who really trusted him, but it was the best option. If Snape had revealed he was truly on Dumbledore's side, not only would they have killed him (and, perhaps, Draco), but Dumbledore would have died anyway--Malfoy remembered how weak he had seemed when he cornered him in the tower.

With these thoughts in his head, Draco Malfoy was not at all eager to become a spy for the other side, but neither was he willing to take the life of many innocent Muggles, half-bloods and Muggle-borns. And he didn't want to die. Like any ordinary person, Muggle or not, Draco wanted to fall in love, have children, see his mother and father one more time ... he hated these dark times and longed for the days when the Dark Lord was in hiding, too afraid and weak to show himself to the wizarding world.

When Severus came to check on him half an hour later, Draco accepted the tray of food his protector offered him, and between chews, informed him, "I've made my decision."