Chapter 19 – Hello again...

"Already tried that – couldn't find it."

Robert arched an eyebrow at his companion. "Did you search everywhere? You might have missed it."

There was a slight pause, then a grim chuckle. Katherine tore her gaze away from the crack in the door and grinned at him. "I wasn't referring to the locket, Rob. I meant the house."

"You couldn't find the house," he repeated slowly, as Katherine turned back to the door and peered out into the sunlit street.

"That's right."

"It's pretty bloody hard to miss."

Robert could almost hear his friend roll her eyes. "Don't you think I know that? I'm telling you it wasn't there. 10 & 14 and a six inch dividing wall where number 12 should be."

Robert was quiet for a while, considering this information. "When?"

"When what?" asked Katherine, easing the door open a fraction to get a better view of the street beyond.

"When did you go?"

Katherine thought about it for a moment. "About two years ago."

Robert almost laughed. "When the Order were using it as headquarters you mean?"

The door shut abruptly as Katherine whirled round to face him. "Say that again?"

Robert grinned. "You walked right up to Order HQ and practically knocked on the door and they still couldn't catch you? How long did you stay there trying to figure out how to get in?"

Katherine scowled at him. "Why would the Order use Grimmauld Place as HQ?"

"I believe Black offered it to Dumbledore – would have just been empty otherwise; Mrs Black died ages ago."

"But Sirius hated that place," said Katherine quietly, her expression hard to read in the dim light. "He'd rather walk through hell than go back there."

Robert shrugged, sliding off the table he'd been sitting on and taking up sentry by the grimy window. "He went to Azkaban didn't he?"

Katherine didn't answer, just leant against the cold wall looking pensive. Robert chose to ignore her and peered out into the street. The things you do for the people who call themselves your friends. Here he was, cooped up in a dilapidated old shack that was probably vacant for the simple reason that the roof looked as though it was about to cave in and the floorboards were more woodworm than wood, all because Katherine wanted to spy on some guy who'd been unfortunate enough to get on her bad side in the short month he'd known her. He didn't know why she wanted to spy on the man, but she'd insisted and he'd agreed to keep her company. He sighed, and rubbed the window with his sleeve in a effort to make it at least semitransparent. A little further up the road was a small tavern, and outside the tavern was...

"He turned up."

"Course he did," muttered Katherine. "You don't not turn up when the Dark Lord summons you; not if you want to keep your head on your shoulders."

Robert murmured his agreement, then frowned. "Kat, did you ask Bella to recruit him?"

Katherine chuckled mirthlessly. "What if I did?"

"That's...that's cruel, no actually that's just plain evil." Robert glanced over at the black haired woman. "You really don't like him, do you? I mean, you actually hate him – you spoke to Bella you hate him so much."

Katherine's blue eyes gleamed in a shaft of light that fell through the worn door. "Daniel Corbelle is not a nice person. Besides, I like Ophelia and she deserves better."

"So that's your plan? Sign him up and get him killed?" asked Robert, looking sternly at Katherine.

"Yes."

Robert smiled sourly. "Fair enough." They were quiet for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, then Robert said softly, "We should go look, you know."

Katherine glanced up at him, puzzled. "Look where?"

"Grimmauld Place – the Order moved out when Black died. Whatever charms they put on it would probably have deteriorated by now."

Katherine stared at him for a long time, then nodded. "Ok. Let's go."

x – X – x

Plumbiossis: lit. 'lead bones', use to impede flight. Note – may cause fatality if not removed promptly.

Harry shut the book and looked across the room at his two best friends. Ron was lying half asleep on his bed, a sheaf of papers lying spread out around him and Hermione was taking notes from a couple of books on Dark Magic.

"Hermione, where did you find this book?" he asked, holding up the green leather bound volume she'd sneaked out of Hogwarts.

"Someone donated it to the school," said Hermione absently. "I think it was Riddle."

Ron sat up on his bed abruptly. "Riddle? Which one?"

"Katherine," answered Hermione, tracing her finger along a line of text, seemingly entirely unconcerned about this.

"We've got Katherine's book?" asked Harry, staring down at it as though it might try to kill him.

Hermione sighed and put down her quill. "I told you, she gave it to the school – she's not going to come looking for it. I'm not even entirely sure it did belong to her. Why did you ask?"

"Well, it's just that it's got some really nasty spells in here – I mean really horrible," said Harry gravely. "What kind of people come up with spells that make you live out your greatest fear or trap yourself inside your own body?"

"Anyone who's seen a boggart," said Hermione quietly. She looked soberly at the two boys. "Any Hogwarts student could have come up with any of the spells in that book. They're simple, that's what's so awful about them."

"They're twisted," said Harry firmly. "No normal person could come up with something like Inopia."

"No, perhaps not," said Hermione soberly. "But then Katherine is hardly what you'd call normal, is she?"

"Katherine?" asked Ron hesitantly. "But just because she owned it doesn't mean-"

"She wrote it, Ron," said Hermione, gazing at him. "Not alone – the spells are quite different – they couldn't all have been thought up by the same person, but she did help write it. Look at the date, it was written a few years before she was arrested."

Harry turned to the inside cover and examined it. Above the publishing date were five words written in neat copperplate handwriting:

scientia potestas est

arma ipse

And beneath that, at the bottom of the page and clearly specific to this one copy of the book, the words: nil desperandum

Harry frowned, making a mental note to buy a Latin dictionary next time he went out. He glanced at the next page where, if this had been a normal book, the title would have been. It wasn't. There was, however, another note scrawled in the top right hand corner in different handwriting to the previous one. Tartarus super gelavit.

"What's Tartarus?" he asked, and didn't realise he'd spoken aloud until Hermione answered.

"It's part of the Underworld in Roman myths. I came across it once doing a bit of background reading for Ancient Runes. It was where all the criminals were sent – I suppose you could call it hell. Why, is it in there?"

"Someone's written a load of Latin phrases in here."

"Strange thing to do," frowned Ron, looking bewildered.

"Not really," said Hermione, turning back to her book. "They didn't expect anyone else to get their hands on it, and if they did, they would have expected them to understand Latin, most pureblood families used to get tutored in it, I heard."

"They?" asked Harry.

"The people who wrote the book," said Hermione grimly. "I think it's meant to be some sort of survival guide; that inscription in the front – 'scientia potestas est, arma ipse' – I looked it up. It translates as 'knowledge is power, arm yourself'. At a guess I'd say Riddle and her friends wrote it as a handbook for Death Eaters."

"Or a collection of how much they'd leant," put in Harry darkly, looking down at the book. A handbook for Death Eaters, that didn't sound good – but if it was, why wasn't everyone using those spells? Harry was pretty sure the newspapers would have reported people getting hit with those sorts of curses...

"You can't be sure it's written by Death Eaters," Ron said, frowning deeply.

"Avery's got a copy," said Harry quietly. His friends stared at him and he smiled sourly. "At Remus', that guy Katherine knew said he'd been leant a book by Avery – one that had Number Four in."

"Yeah – I thought that was odd," agreed Hermione. "Why call a spell Number Four? But it's not in there Harry, I checked."

"Maybe it's not a name, maybe it's a nickname," said Harry, flicking through the book to find the page he'd seen earlier.

"A nickname?" asked Hermione, glancing at Ron uncertainly.

Ron looked thoughtfully at Harry, then raised an eyebrow as he caught on to what his friend was suggesting. "A fourth Unforgivable?"

Harry nodded grimly. "A couple of weeks ago the Prophet reported that an Auror admitted to Saint Mungo's, unable to speak, see move or indeed communicate in any way at all – the Healers aren't even sure if he can hear."

"And a couple of weeks ago that man said Reeves had been hit with Number Four..." finished Hermione, looking horrified.

"Inopia," Harry read, having finally found the page he'd been looking for. "Literally meaning helpless. Totally incapacitates victim; irreversible."

There was a short silence following his words which was abruptly broken by a soft popping noise. Harry started in surprise at the sight of his house-elf standing in the middle of the room.

"Kreacher?"

Kreacher bowed low, muttering obscenities under his breath. "You summoned me, Master?"

"No I didn't," objected Harry, staring at the small wizened creature before him. Kreacher appeared to hesitate, even ceasing his customary mumbling to mull this over.

"Master summon Kreacher," he decided eventually. "Despicable half-blood scum that he is."

Harry glanced at Ron over Kreacher's wrinkled head, hoping for some clue as to what was happening. Ron shrugged and made a gesture illustrating that he thought Kreacher had lost it a long time ago. Harry frowned down at the elf and asked:

"Why do you think I summoned you?"

"Master say Kreacher's name. Master summon Kreacher," grumbled the elf mutinously.

"I didn't say your name," argued Harry, getting annoyed now.

"Someone obviously did," said Hermione softly. Harry glanced at her and she continued. "If house-elves hear their name called by someone they've sworn to obey, they're compelled to turn up. They can't disobey a call and it would take a lot of effort to come when not summoned."

"But all the Blacks are dead," said Ron, staring at the still bowing form of Kreacher. "And we know he doesn't belong to Bellatrix– Harry, what're you doing?"

Harry had sprung to his feet and pulled out his wand, expression furious. "I'm going to Grimmauld Place."

x – X – x

"They've cleared the place," said Katherine bleakly, standing in the middle of one of the many drawing rooms. "Everything's gone – all the trophies, all the artifacts, everything."

"Well at least we know the Order were here."

Katherine frowned at Robert, who was examining a tapestry hanging on the wall. "I thought you already knew that."

"Thought, yes – knew, no. Never had any real conclusive proof." He stood back and smiled absently at her. "D'you know Black's name has been blasted off this?"

"Course it has, he was a blood traitor – cardinal sin, that. Doubt he would have cared – he hated his family." Katherine sighed, pulling a couple more drawers open and riffling through them even though she knew it was pointless; the Order had obviously been very thorough in their cleaning. "Kreacher?" she called absently for the third time that hour. "Where is that bloody house-elf?"

"Maybe he died," suggested Robert, peering out of the window into the street below.

"His head's not on the staircase," said Katherine, sliding the drawers shut with rather more force than was strictly necessary.

"Maybe he died after his late mistress." Robert turned away from the window and watched as Katherine leant her head against the polished mahogany cabinet, eyes closed. "What about his room?"

"Kreacher's?"

"Reg's."

Katherine opened her eyes and looked at him. Would Sirius have cleared out his brother's old room? She could understand him wanting to get rid of everything that reminded him of his childhood, but Regulus' things...

"Worth a try," she conceded and led the way out of the room and up the stairs. Robert pulled a face as they walked through the corridor leading to the floor Regulus' room had been on.

"What's that smell?"

"Dunno, smells like sewage doesn't it?" answered Katherine, wrinkling her nose. Robert nodded and pushed open one of the doors. "What?" asked Katherine, seeing the amused look on his face.

"You weren't kidding when you said he hated his family, were you?"

Katherine stuck her head around the door and grinned. She remembered this being Sirius' parents room and from the looks of it her former fiancé had at some point installed some sort of animal in here. Dead rodents and a few feathers were scattered across the floor and the room smelled like a cesspit.

"Shame they didn't get round to cleaning in here," murmured Robert, closing the door firmly. Katherine just grinned and headed further down the corridor and up the small flight of stairs at the end.

"Regulus' room," she announced, trying the door handle; it was locked. She poked at the lock with her wand unsuccessfully for a while, then looked at her companion. Robert grinned and rammed the door open with his shoulder.

Katherine caught the door as it tried to shudder closed again and looked into the room. Then she looked at Robert.

"I don't think it's in here," she said quietly. Robert shook his head, gazing silently through the doorway. It was like looking through a window to the past, or maybe a shrine; not a thing was out of place – everything was left as Regulus must have left it over two decades earlier. There were books and quills scattered over the desk, a jacket hanging on the back of his chair and a picture of Auriga Nott pinned to the wall over his bed.

"Something as powerful as a soul would corrupt things," murmured Katherine. "This is just..." She shrugged helplessly, this is Regulus' room, frozen in time.

"It's not in here," confirmed Robert, closing the door carefully.

Suddenly, somewhere in the house, someone screamed. Robert and Katherine looked at each other, then drew their wands.

"The Order did move out, right?" she hissed, looking worriedly at her friend.

"I thought they did," muttered Robert, frowning. "Blood traitor scum...? Is it just me or can you hear someone yelling mudblood...?"

"I recognise that voice," said Katherine slowly, brow furrowing. "That's Mrs Black."

"Deceased?"

"Evidently not," muttered Katherine. "Wait – blood traitor? What blood traitor? What mudblood?"

"Shut the curtains!"

"I'm trying!"

Robert raised his eyebrows. "That wasn't Mrs Black."

"MISTRESS!"

Katherine's head snapped down as something small and grey hurled itself at her feet, sobbing loudly.

"Kreacher, where the hell have you been?" asked Katherine, scowling down at the elf. Footsteps sounded below them and a small white face surrounded by bushy brown hair appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at them.

"Kreach-" Brown eyes widened in shock and the girl turned on her heel and fled back the way she'd come. Robert was first to react, leaping down the stairs after her, closely followed by Katherine, yelling at him not to hex anyone. Behind them, Kreacher jumped up, bloodshot eyes shining with delight and ran towards the sound of his mistress' voice.

x – X – x

"...filthy half blood scum, befouling the house of..."

"Harry, run!"

Harry and Ron stopped trying to pull the curtains over Mrs Black's portrait and looked up at Hermione. Her face was pale and scared and over her shoulder they could see a man chasing her. Ron ran forward and caught her hand, pulling her towards the stairs, but Harry stood his ground, glaring at her pursuers.

"Harry, come on!" urged Ron, but Harry ignored him. Behind him, the yells of Mrs Black fell silent and the blond man was brought up short by someone placing a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Robert Avery?" asked the portrait, sounding uncertain. A woman's face appeared behind the blond man, scowling at the painting.

"So you are dead, then?" she asked, black hair gleaming in the dimly lit hallway. "I was worried for a while there."

"What are you playing at, Kat?" asked the man softly, looking suspiciously at her.

"Just being polite," shrugged Katherine.

"You've nicked my wand," said the man pointedly, looking rather miffed about this.

"Oh yeah, you're not allowed to hurt them," she said absently, smiling faintly at him. "Remus would never forgive me. Besides, without Potter we're basically screwed – isn't that right, Potter?" she asked, raising her voice and smiling pleasantly at Harry. "He's the Chosen One," she added, addressing Robert once more.

"We're going to let him go? You do realise we'll be in a hell of a lot of trouble if anyone finds out."

Katherine grinned, stepping round him and regarding Harry thoughtfully. "Who's going to tell him? No one knows we're here."

"You're breaking and entering," scowled Harry, raising his wand.

"No we're not, I have a key," retorted Katherine, holding it up.

"Trespassing, then."

"And?"

"And it's my house," said Harry, glaring at her. Katherine arched an eyebrow.

"Your house? Really? Well that's a relief, I was half expecting Trix to show up any minute and demand to know what I was doing."

"What are you doing?" asked Harry, not lowering his wand. Just because she'd stopped her companion hurting them didn't mean he had to trust her.

Katherine smiled slyly. "Kreacher?"

"Yes, Mistress?"

"She's not your mistress," interjected Harry angrily. It wasn't that he didn't want to be rid of Kreacher – he did, but as Dumbledore had pointed out, the elf knew far too much about the Order to be set free or reassigned.

"Yeah, that's a good point actually," agreed Katherine. "Why are you calling me mistress?"

"Mistress was en-"

"Never mind," interrupted Katherine with an abruptness that startled even Robert. "I get it."

"I don't. En what?" asked Robert, frowning at his friend.

"Endorsed by Regulus as an honorary family member," answered Katherine smoothly and turned to the house-elf at her side, smiling grimly. "Kreacher I believe you have something of mine."