Author's Note: Thank you so much for the nice reviews! They really do encourage me to write more, and make me feel good. To duj (the rest of you can quit reading here): On your review about Ron – I was trying to bring across a slightly suppressed mood in the Weasley kitchen, everyone being a bit preoccupied, including Ron. I don't think it would have occurred to him much to say anything to the twins about their comment, as they were only trying to lighten the mood. And don't think that Hermione didn't have many an argument with her parents – because she did. And she didn't exactly raise it up as a suggestion that she might go, she told them firmly that she was going, not leaving much room for protest on their part. But that's my fault – I assumed that you would assume that that is what happened, given Hermione's personality…and didn't explain fully. I apologize. And yes, when I wrote the bit about Harry and Dudley, I honestly did realize that wand monitoring is cued for usage in front of Muggles, but it was just too much fun to have Harry tormenting Dudley to give it up. :) And Fleur does stink at charms – she showed it during the Triwizard. Her failure to ward off the Grindylows in the lake proved it. But I do love hearing the mistakes you spot in my plot (and I'm not even being sarcastic!) – so keep reviewing!

Anyway. The first part of this chapter is pretty angsty…(cringes). Tried to avoid it. I couldn't, really. Sorry. And I just caught the mistake that Harry in fact did already show them the note from R.A.B...butI don't feel like changing it now sodeal with the inaccuracy!But, eh. Chapter ten is here…so read it.

Chapter 10

Revelations

A grandfather clock chimed loudly, its announcement that 1 a.m. had arrived reverberating around the humongous bedroom. The room had a wooden floor and walls adorned with beautiful paintings of landscapes; one above the king-sized bed of a meadow full of orange wildflowers with golden-haired maidens in long, flowing dresses frolicking in and out of it, giggling. Double doors leading to a large outdoor balcony stood open next to the bed and a light breeze wafted through them accompanied by bright moonlight.

Sitting at the end of the giant bed and bathed in this moonlight, Harry Potter's head was filled with a hundred thoughts at the same time, all worrying, all different.

Being at Godric's Hollow seemed to have taken a great emotional toll on Harry. Hermione and Ron seemed to enjoy the huge manor well enough, but the place was dead to Harry, it seemed as though it had died when his parents had. He imagined that it was once a bright, cheerful place, filled with sounds of laughter and jovial conversation. But now it was lifeless; its dulled furniture and books, paintings and aged knick knacks seemed to mock Harry every time he looked around.

But Harry knew that he couldn't afford to be acting the way he was. Voldemort could be murdering people at this very moment, scolded the voice in the back of his head. And you're sitting here, drowning in your own worry. Enough is enough. So he had no family left, he needed to get over it already.

Trying to douse the dull pain in his chest, Harry shook his head and rose from the foot of the bed. He paced the length of the room, back and forth and back and forth; it was something that he had taken to doing recently. As he strode from one end of the room to another, something caught his eye. Just under the giant bed was the corner of a grubby looking sack, though Harry could not think what it could be. Walking over to the bed and bending down, he pulled the bag from under the bed and recognized it instantly as the knapsack that he had brought to the Dursleys' a week ago.

Scowling, Harry upturned the bag on top of the bedcovers and out fell the objects that he had thrown inside. The cracked Sneakoscope quivered feebly, lying on top of the several broken quills and empty inkwell. But something heavy fell from the bag, too, and Harry's heart gave a start as he realized what it was. He seized the heavy, dusty photo album and slowly sank down to the foot of the bed, holding it. He wondered if he dared look at the pictures in it, for fear of having a complete breakdown. Pushing these thoughts to the back of his head, Harry cracked open the old photo book to the first page.

There were his mother and his father, who both broke into ecstatic smiles at the sight of him and waved up at him frantically. Harry's heart pounded dully in his chest. Here were the people that had been ever on his mind for most of his young life. His fingers trembling slightly, Harry turned the page and found another picture of his mother, solitary, leaning against a barrier in a train station, her reddish-brown hair whipping, as if in the wind. She beamed up at him. The next was one of a wedding; James was wearing a tuxedo and tugging at his bow tie awkwardly, grinning, while Lily stood looking radiant in a bright white dress, smiling at him also. And there was another person, a tall, black haired, handsome-faced man with his hands in his pockets, flashing a genuine grin up at Harry. In this picture Sirius's face wasn't lined, and his eyes were youthful and void of the deadened look that Azkaban had given them.

Harry stared down at the picture for what seemed like hours, the low-burning embers of the dying fire his only light. His parents and Sirius only beamed benignly up at him, shuffling around in their picture. Once or twice James and Lily kissed each other, after prodding from Sirius, who seemed to be behaving very mischievously.

As he gazed at the photo, an unwelcome though floated its way through Harry's mind. All three of these people are dead because of me, he thought. I killed them. He scowled as a swoop of hot anger surged through him, causing him to throw the photo book across the room and it hit the opposite wall, falling open to the floor with a loud thump.

"Harry?"

A soft voice echoed around the room from the double doors. Hermione stood in the doorway in her white nightgown, her bushy hair falling down to her shoulders, holding her brightly lit wand. She peered into the room tentatively, looking nervous; Harry felt himself flush with shame for throwing the photo album and making so much noise.

"Sorry," mumbled Harry, looking across the room, away from Hermione. He heard her tread softly into the room and stop just short of him. He felt her eyes on him.

"Harry," she said again, standing over him. He looked up at her. She extinguished her wand so that they were in semi-darkness and she sat next to him at the foot of the bed. "How long is this going to go on for?"

Harry looked at her blankly, blinked, and looked away. There was no point in pretending that he didn't know what she meant. But the problem was, he didn't know how long his slump would last for; to be honest, he hadn't been thinking about the future much, even though the nagging voice in the back of his head had been reminding him daily that more people were dying, and he was doing nothing to stop it, even when he had all the power to.

"You can't keep on like this," came Hermione's voice again from his right, and Harry continued to stare at the wall. "It's not helping anyone, Harry. And it's not healthy. You need to get up, you need to do something."

"I need to do something?" said Harry heatedly, turning his head to look at Hermione's stony face. "What about you and Ron, what have you two been doing? I bet you've both just been having a good laugh together, haven't you? Poor Harry and his poor dead parents –" As soon as the words left Harry's mouth, he regretted saying them. He knew it wasn't the least bit true, and the look of hurt on Hermione's face was enough to force him to look the other way again.

"Of course we haven't," said Hermione quietly, sounding both angry and very hurt at the same time. "You know all we want to do is help you, Harry. That's all we want to do."

"Well, a fat lot of help you've been," spat Harry before he could stop himself. He got to his feet and walked over to the fireplace, staring down at the glowing embers.

"What is wrong with you? You're not you anymore. What's happened to you?" From the way it sounded Hermione had gotten to her feet to, and was standing only a short distance behind him.

"What's wrong with me? You tell me what's wrong. My parents are dead. Sirius is dead, Dumbledore is dead. Have you noticed a pattern yet? Anyone who's ever cared for me, or been there for me, or anyone I love, they all end up dead." His voice was rising uncontrollably. "Who's going to be next? How many people, Hermione? How many people have to die before this is over!" he shouted loudly across the room, hot anger flushing up his face and neck. To his horror, he felt hot tears spring to his eyes and blinked furiously, managing to suppress them.

"I don't know, Harry," said Hermione finally, sounding miraculously calm, given that Harry had just shouted at her at the top of his lungs. "Don't you see? That's why we have to do something. We need to stop Voldemort before he kills any more people."

"Easy for you to say," said Harry, turning and look out of the doors that led to the balcony. "Voldemort hasn't hit home with you yet."

"Hasn't hit home?" said Hermione incredulously. "Do you think you were the only person close to Sirius? The only person close to Dumbledore? Well, you weren't, Harry, I was hurt, Ron was hurt, and so were a thousand other people."

Harry was silent. He knew she was right. He immediately felt guilty for shouting. She had only been trying to help.

"Listen, Hermione—" he said, but she interrupted.

"It's alright, Harry," she said, taking a step towards him. "I know this is hard for you…and I'm sorry that Ron and I haven't been much help, but well, you know, we just thought you'd need your space…" She trailed off, fidgeting nervously.

Suddenly, Harry felt a great upsurge of affection for his best friend. He stared at her for a few moments before saying softly, "Thanks, Hermione."

With that, Hermione threw her arms around him and began to cry into his shoulder. Harry was caught so unawares that for a moment he only stood there, in shock. But then he returned Hermione's embrace and patted her on the back consolingly. He could remember a time when he would have felt extremely disconcerted in a position like this, but after six years through thick and thin with his friend, he felt perfectly fine patting Hermione's back in an attempt to soothe her.

Finally, Hermione relinquished her grip on Harry and sniffled, wiping her eyes.

"I'm going to bed," she said, taking a step back from him. "Goodnight, Harry."

She collected her wand, lit it again, and slid quietly out of the bedroom, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

x x x

Over the next couple of days a grey mist seemed to settle itself on Godric's Hollow. The sky looked perpetually stormy, but never went ahead with the looming threat of a downpour. For some odd reason, after the argument with Hermione Harry felt it much easier to be sociable, at least to an extent. The painful knot in his chest had loosened slightly, it felt like. He had taken the photo album from Hagrid and slid it in a dark corner of the wardrobe that stood in his parents' bedroom, for the time being. He was determined not to look at it again, no matter how much he wanted to. What he needed to concentrate on now was Voldemort.

He had voiced this very thought to Ron and Hermione that evening; they had all gathered round the roaring sitting room fire that had been set in the enormous grate, lounging across the immensely comfortable scarlet sitting furniture.

"Yes," said Hermione, who was sitting cross-legged on the armchair that was nearest the fire, gazing down at the flames. "But how do we go about doing anything? How are we going to figure out what the other Horcruxes are? I mean, it must've taken Dumbledore ages just to find out that Voldemort was using Horcruxes in the first place…"

Harry's head was whirling. He knew Hermione was right, and his mind weighed heavily with the thought. He contemplated for a moment, and then said, more just to spell things out for himself than anything else, "In June Dumbledore told me…he said he reckoned that Voldemort would have wanted all of the things he was using as Horcruxes to have some kind of value. He used Slytherin's locket…he stole that cup that belonged to Hufflepuff, and he might have used that….the diary he had owned when he was sixteen….But if he had used objects from two of Hogwart's founders, Dumbledore reckons that he would have tried his hardest to find things that had once belonged to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, too."

The cup…something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's…the thought that had haunted Harry for months crept back into his mind as he stared around the gigantic room, racking his brains. And who, who had R.A.B. been? With a start, Harry realized that he had never told Ron or Hermione about the note that he had found inside the locket, the note that was still inside the hard, gold heart, buried deep inside his open trunk in the second floor bedroom.

"It was I who discovered your secret…," murmured Harry softly, tapping his fingers on the arm of the sofa that he was sitting in. "That locket…the one that Dumbledore and I got from the cave…it had a note in it."

"What?" said Ron quickly, looking eager. "Harry, what are you talking about?"

"The locket had a note…telling him that his secret had been discovered…that the real horcrux would be destroyed…signed R.A.B." Harry looked up at the other two. "Well, I haven't memorized it exactly…"

Suddenly he got up from the sofa and headed for the entrance hall, taking the gigantic staircase up to the second floor landing. As he reached the second floor bedroom, he pulled one of the doors open quickly and headed to the corner where his trunk lay open. He heard Ron and Hermione follow him into the bedroom. Digging furiously, Harry finally found it. The hard gold locket, and the note that had been lying beside it in his trunk. He unfolded the scrap of paper and read the words scrawled there, for what seemed like the thousandth time.

To the Dark Lord
I know I will be dead long before you read this
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.
I have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,
you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B

"R.A.B…," murmured Ron, who had been reading over Harry's shoulder next to Hermione. "Who the bloody hell is R.A.B.? And how come you haven't showed this to us before, Harry? We would have been a lot less confused…"

"Well, if you haven't noticed, I've been a bit preoccupied lately," snapped Harry, immediately feeling slightly ashamed of himself.

"But who is R.A.B.? And how do we know if he really destroyed the real horcrux?" said Hermione quickly, snatching the scrap of paper, seeming keen to keep Harry from getting irritated.

"That's what I'd like to know," said Harry, beginning to pace. "I never…I never had a chance to talk to Dumbledore about it…" He looked out of the window. The sky had grown very dark, a thunder rumbled loudly. Harry walked over and shut it just in time, as fat drops of rain immediately began to splatter loudly against the glass. Wind howled savagely and whipped leaves from trees in a mad whirlwind.

Harry turned and lit his wand, stepping back into the middle of the room. Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke, each apparently deep in thought. Harry walked past his trunk to the wardrobe and back again. His head felt heavy and he was beginning to develop a throbbing pain over his left eye. It was getting difficult to think too hard. Harry tapped his wand absentmindedly on the paneled wall in front of him.

Immediately the panels began to tremble oddly. Harry jumped back away from the wall, his heart pounding. A strange light was seeping through the cracks between the pieces of wood, and suddenly, several panels slid to the side, revealing a musty, dilapidated, dusty, and very old looking cabinet. It contained only one object.

Harry's pulse had taken on a ridiculous pace. He stood stationary for a moment, his mouth open slightly in shock. Finally, he took a very slow step towards the cabinet set in the wall, feeling Ron and Hermione follow him timidly.

It was a Pensieve. The thoughts inside of it swirled serenely, twinkling silver gaseous liquid. Harry's mind immediately jumped back to the Pensieve that had always had a place in Dumbledore's office, but this Pensieve was different. It lacked strange markings and symbols around the edges of its stone basin, and was rather larger.

Harry reached out a shaking hand very slowly, his fingers not a half inch from the surface of the thoughts –

"Harry!" Hermione's voice sounded terrified. Harry lowered his hand and turned to look at her. She was pale, and had one finger pointed to the window. Harry took a step towards it, and looked down onto the dark grounds, but could see naught but rain slashing ruthlessly through the night.

"What?" he asked her, squinting his eyes, pressing his glasses closer to his face.

"Down there," Hermione whispered urgently, putting her finger to the glass.

Harry looked to where she was pointing, desperate to see through the rain. And then, with a jolt, he saw a shadowy figure wrapped tight in a cloak making its way rapidly down the front walk.

Author's Note: Sorry, I think I was a little desperate to finish this chapter for some reason, so I think it seemed rather rushed, not to mention sloppy. But I hope you liked it anyway! The next chapter will be better, I hope. So review: the good, the bad, and the ugly!