"Home again, home again, jiggity-jig," Ron said without much energy as he opened the tent flap and made a direct line for the sofa, with Harry and Hermione right behind him looking equally all in.

"At the very least I think we can be certain there's absolutely nothing here," Hermione said with a sigh as she settled into her usual chair.

"Yeah, there's not really much of anything," Harry said. "Merope and Tom Riddle's honeymoon cottage was pretty bleak."

"Bleak? That made Snape's Potions classroom look cozy," Ron said with a shudder.

"Between the view of the fetid bog from the cracked glass in the window and the mostly fallen in ceiling with patches of mold, I'd tend to agree," Hermione said, "but in fairness that might not have been what it looked like sixty or more years ago."

"Right, I'm sure it was a charming little spot to take your magically enslaved spouse for a happy honeymoon," Harry said sarcastically. "Plant a few petunias around the door and it'd be a real showplace."

"You're probably right," Hermione said. "Granted, anywhere that didn't have Morphin and Marvolo in it was most likely an improvement for Merope, but still, the air around there just felt horrid, like it had known something terrible."

"But not a Horcrux," Harry said.

"No," Hermione agree. "There was nothing concealed there, no trace of magical energy, no suspiciously out of place objects, nothing. It was just massively depressing."

Harry suspected that the real problem was they were back in England, and from what he could tell the Dementors had been breeding at full tilt in the little time they'd been gone. Either that or being able to breathe fresh air unpolluted by a constant low-key hum of despair had left them ill-prepared for the reality of home. If it had always been this bad, Harry was stunned they hadn't all tried to murder each other long ago.

"Okay, so Tommy decided to use the Gaunt cottage ruins for the hiding place of one Horcrux. Right, Harry?" Ron said.

"Yes, that's where the ring was," Harry agreed.

"And the diary went to dear old Lucius, and the locket went to the cave with a connection to the orphanage," Ron said.

"Exactly," Hermione said, sounding tired. "There's no pattern."

"But, see, maybe the pattern is there's no pattern?" Ron said. "Hear me out. Let's say Dumbledore was right and there are three more Horcruxes for the founders, or, if Gryffindor doesn't have one, then that repellent reptile of Tommy's. He's already had two from Slytherin, and we've got those, even if one of them very stubbornly refuses to admit when it's beaten."

The locket, currently hanging around Hermione's neck, which Harry thought probably explained why she looked even more tired than he and Ron did, seemed to give a belligerent pulse of power before going back to sleep.

"Yes," Hermione said. "But—"

"But he doesn't seem to be hitting the same place twice," Ron said. "Two different families, plus a cottage. I think we might not be able to narrow down where they are, but we know where they most likely won't be. I don't think we'll find another one anywhere near a place that's related to the Gaunts, his childhood, or the Malfoys."

Harry found that an awfully slim reduction of possibilities, but to his surprise, Hermione was squinting her eyes and nodding slowly.

"It's not a huge lead, but it does eliminate a few places and people. For example, I was wondering the other day whether You-Know-Who might have hidden something at Malfoy Manor, but no, he wouldn't have wanted to risk two Horcruxes in the same place in case of some sort of unforeseen disaster happening," Hermione said. "Also, the Horcrux doesn't like this conversation. I can feel it, and that has to be a good sign."

She took off the locket and dropped it carefully but with a definite sense of repugnance on the kitchen table. Harry noted she immediately took a deep breath, like she was cleaning out her lungs.

"If this keeps up, we may actually have to consider Fiendfyre," she muttered to herself, but as Harry had no idea what that meant and Ron hadn't noticed, he decided to skip it.

"Fine, so the Malfoys are, so to speak, clean," Harry said.

"And the Gaunts, and probably anything to do with the orphanage as well," Hermione said. "I tend to agree with Dumbledore that Nagini is a Horcrux. That would fit the pattern as well since she stays with him, moving from place to place, and therefore wouldn't be as open to possible attack without a constant guard."

"Okay, so that leaves the cup and something from Ravenclaw," Ron said.

"Or, to follow your line of reasoning, something from a different era of his life or left with a different follower," Hermione said.

"Hogwarts," Harry said firmly. "One of them has to be at Hogwarts somewhere."

Ron and Hermione looked at one another.

"So, do you want to go there next?" Hermione asked nervously.

"No," Harry said. "I think that has to be last, or next to last, right before Nagini. The place is crawling with Deatheaters, and . . . it might not end well."

Harry had almost said what he was thinking, that they might all wind up dead and their mission die with them since, so far as he knew, Dumbledore and confided it to no one else. Harry had thought about that many times, and while initially he was angry about the secrecy, he now realized it might have been the only way Dumbledore could ensure that the three of them wouldn't have done something far too risky. They had to be careful at least until the last Horcrux was in view or it would all be for nothing. Harry had to admit it was a pretty persuasive tactic for keeping them alive.

Hermione seemed to have picked up on his unspoken thought, though, and even Ron, usually a bit slower at reading between the lines, gave Harry a look that suggested he knew what was what.

"Okay, then, we save Nagini for last and Hogwarts for next to last," Ron said. "So what else have we got?"

"I suppose the usual coterie of sycophants and assorted hangers-on," Hermione said, ticking them off on her fingers. "The Yaxleys, the Lestranges, the Carrows, Macnair, possibly Nott, along with several others."

"What about Wormtail or Greyback?" Ron asked.

"I don't think he'd trust Greyback," Hermione said. "He's still a pureblood fanatic, and he seems to loathe werewolves."

"No," Harry agreed, "Greyback isn't likely."

"Wormtail then," Ron suggested. "He stayed faithful to him when he didn't have a working body."

"True," Hermione said, considering, "but he's a betrayer. I think You-Know-Who is aware that Pettigrew's first loyalty is to himself. He'd do anything to save his own skin, and if he had a Horcrux, he probably would have turned it over to Dumbledore in exchange for protection. It would be the most logical choice. Since we know he didn't do that, I don't think he has one."

"Yeah," Ron said, sounding crestfallen. "Then who do you reckon? Or is it a place?"

"Bellatrix," Harry said firmly. "She's a right little bootlicker."

"The only problem is she's so obvious that she's almost too obvious," Hermione said.

"Unless she's so obvious that she goes round again into not being obvious," Ron said.

"And then if it goes too far again, she's obvious once more," Harry said.

Hermione shook her head and gave a faint chuckle.

"Perhaps we're all overthinking this," she said. "Maybe it's hanging about in some ridiculously simple place like, I don't know, You-Know-Who's wand or something."

"Where did he live when he was working for Borgin and Burke?" Harry asked.

"A flat in Knockturn Alley," Hermione said.

"Okay, well, if it's not attached to a person, and it could be, maybe it's there," Harry said.

Hermione looked very nervous.

"That's nearly as dangerous as being seen in Hogwarts," she said.

"Nearly, but not quite," Harry said. "We'd need Polyjuice, of course. Do we have enough?"

"Yes," Hermione said, waving a hand impatiently, "but that's not the point. That foray into the Ministry nearly got us all caught. We'd need to plan this very carefully."

"Then we plan it carefully," Ron said. "Take as much time as we need, but I think Harry might be on to something. It's worth trying."

*"But it's Hermione's turn to pick next," Harry said.

"Oh, right," Ron said, looking a little embarrassed. "Ehm, what do you reckon, then?"

"I don't know," she said, slumping a bit more in her seat.

"Not a phrase we often hear from you," Ron said.

Hermione glared at him but said, "I really don't know, though. None of us do. We could pick the wrong place and wind up all getting killed for nothing."

She squinted for a moment as though she were trying to remember something.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Oh, it's just another story," Hermione said.

"Long or short?" Ron asked. "I'd like a story, but I'm about ready to nod off as it is."

"Quite short, actually, and it's about one of your favorite things in all this," Hermione said.

"Food?" Harry ventured and was hit with a pillow for his trouble.

"Nah, it'll be a girl with a completely bonkers name," Ron said.

"No, a goose," Hermione said.

"Another goose? What, were they thick on the ground in the old days or summat?" Ron said with a laugh.

Harry noted that the Horcrux on the table was looking remarkably pale all of a sudden. It really didn't like it when they were acting normally, and Harry couldn't be happier about that.

"I expect there were a fair few of them, but this is from very long ago, one of Aesop's stories," Hermione said.

"Oh, the old Greek bloke," Ron said. "Okay, so what's the story?"

"Once—"

"—upon a time," Ron chimed in. "I don't care how old they are; they always start that way."

"True enough," Hermione said with a sigh. "Anyway, there lived a king who had a pet swan as well as a goose that was being raised for slaughter."

"A pet swan?" Ron asked.

"Yes, meant to swim about on his lake and look pretty, I suppose," Hermione said. "You can't exactly take one for a walk or cuddle with it, but it would be nice to watch on the water."

"Odd fellow. Get a cat," Ron said.

"Compared to Hagrid, he's positively normal," Harry said.

"If we're marking it that way, then yes, the king is downright boring," Ron said. "Okay, so the swan is there to be pretty, and probably also to hiss loudly and peck viciously if what we've learned about them in previous stories holds up."

"Yes, but the goose and the swan spent a good deal of their time in one another's company and became friends, swimming on the lake together and taking their meals at the same time, that sort of thing," Hermione said.

"Well, that's depressing," Ron said. "The poor goose isn't long for this world, right?"

"Even so," Hermione said. "However, no one counted on the king's cook having far too much wine. One day when he had decided to kill the goose and cook it for dinner, he was so drunk that instead he grabbed the swan by the neck instead."

"He couldn't tell a goose from a swan?" Ron said. "That's really drunk."

"If it were a white swan and a white goose, there really wouldn't be that much difference," Hermione said. "They're roughly the same size, the same color, have similar feeding habits, and are aquatic birds. The Tufted Roman Goose, which is one of the oldest domesticated geese, looks quite a bit like a Mute Swan if you don't study it closely."

"Or if you're completely snockered," Ron said.

"That too," Hermione said.

"Okay, so the cook grabs the wrong Horcrux, I mean, bird," Ron said. "Does this happen to be a story where the bird can talk by any chance?"

"Not exactly," Hermione said. "Instead, the swan began to sing."

"I thought you said it was mute," Ron said.

"In reality, even real Mute Swans make some noises, but there's an old legend that when a swan knows death is approaching, it will sing one perfectly beautiful song before it dies, and that's what this one did now," Hermione said. "It's complete tosh, of course, but people believed it."

"So the swan starts singing and what happens?" Harry asked.

"The cook stopped dead in his tracks and realized that he had the wrong bird," Hermione said. "He'd come dangerously close to killing the king's beloved pet for nothing."

"I'm betting that wouldn't have ended well," Ron said.

"No, it would not," Hermione said. "The cook then took the swan back to the lake, and he let the goose go as well, fearing any other mistakes that might happen. The moral of the story is supposed to be that—"

"Wait, let's see if we can work it out," Ron said quickly. "Um, don't kill things when you're drunk? No, that's too obvious. Be careful of the company you keep or you can get bumped off by accident?"

"Not bad," Hermione said, considering.

"Or maybe double-checking before an irrevocable decision is a good idea," Harry suggested.

"Also a fair point," Hermione said.

"Listening to others is crucial to avoid mistakes?" Ron said.

"People who show mercy will get mercy?"

"Beauty is as beauty does?"

"When something is wrong, speak up?"

"Don't eat goose?"

"Don't eat swan either? Wait, is swan even edible?"

"It is," Hermione said, giggling a bit. "It was quite a fashionable dish for a while in the Renaissance, though it's supposed to be rather gamey."

"Okay, then I give up. What's the moral of the story?" Ron asked.

"Supposedly, it's that music is powerful enough to thwart death. Or possibly to be careful when taking any life," Hermione said.

"I like ours better," Ron said.

"I don't know," Harry said. "It reminds me of Fawkes a bit."

"Yes, I'm wondering if some Muggle accidentally stumbled upon phoenix song and mistook it for a swan's dying song," Hermione said. "It's more in the line of what the stories say a swan song should sound like."

"Maybe," Ron said. "I still think the cook was an idiot. Also, what'd the king eat that night?"

"And once again we return to food," Hermione said with a sigh.

"At least the birds lived happily ever after," Harry said.

"In some versions," Hermione said. "In others, well, the king still has goose for dinner."

Ron grimaced in distaste, but added, "Maybe it's the same golden egg laying goose from the other ones."

"There's nothing in this story about golden eggs, though," Hermione said.

"No, but there's nothing in the story about there not being golden eggs either," Ron said sagely.

"There's also nothing in the story about there not being a six-legged purple cow who enjoyed playing table tennis with her tail while reciting Milton," Hermione said in exasperation. "That's not an argument!"

"No, but I've got the image firmly stuck in my mind now, thanks," Ron said. "Seriously, woman, a purple cow with six legs who plays table tennis?"

"I don't know. It just came to me. I'm tired," Hermione said by way of excuse.

"But the story does make a fair point about not taking a potentially fatal action lightly," Harry said.

"Yeah," Ron admitted.

"Of course, sometimes not taking an action can be fatal too," Hermione said nervously. "All right, then. We need to do something. I'm in favor of trying You-Know-Who's former flat in Knockturn Alley if both of you think it might do some good."

"It's worth a chance," Harry said, nodding. "I agree with it."

"Me too," Ron said.

"Okay, then we'll head back to London tomorrow, use the Polyjuice, and see what we can find," Hermione said. She paused a moment, then added, "But I think we'd better steel ourselves to the possibility that things are going to be horrid there."

"Probably," Ron said, looking grim.

Harry only nodded. It was a risk, but they had to do something. He just hoped that at best it would pay off, and that at least they'd escape without detection.

"We should probably get some shut eye, then," Ron suggested. "Big day tomorrow."

As they all turned in for the night, Harry wondered if any of them would sleep well. It didn't take long for him to drift off to sleep, though, with a dream of phoenix song wafting through his brain as he searched the edge of the Black Lake for a swan that glowed green in the dim moonlight. He spent all night trying to reach it but never quite able to catch it.

Ron, on the other hand, dreamed of a certain violet-hued bovine with half a dozen hooves and a penchant for sports.