Harry awoke to weak sunlight filtering through the mottled glass of his window. His first thought was to close his eyes and go back to sleep, where he had been having pleasant dreams about flying with Puddlemere United. But his fingers brushed Dumbledore's letter, and he immediately swung his legs out of bed.

"You're up early," Ron yawned, rubbing his eyes.

"I told you, I'm going to find Kreacher."

"You really think he'd have it?" He nestled back into his pillow, and before Harry could respond, he was snoring again.

Harry strode through the commonroom, ducked through the portrait hole, and marched straight down to the kitchens, where he was almost knocked over by a house-elf carrying a tray of biscuits.

"Pardon me, sir," she muttered, and with a slight bow, kept on her way.

There was a loud crash across the room, followed by a gasp. "Harry Potter!" It was Dobby.

"Hi, Dobby," said Harry. "Look, I'm just here to see Kreacher, okay?"

Dobby made a low bow. "Kreacher is right over there, sir," and his face fell.

"Sorry, Dobby, it's just that he has something I need, and..."

"Oh no, sir, it's not that... Dobby is just sad that Kreacher will not stop..."

"Stop what?" But his question was answered as a gale of giggles erupted like a volcano, and Winky sent a bottle of firewhisky crashing to the ground. Promptly, Kreacher pressed a full one into her outstretched hand.

"Kreacher!" exclaimed Harry.

He glanced up. "Filthy brat talking to Kreacher, oh my poor Mistress, what would she say..." Dragging a frying pan behind him, he made his way across the room. "What does it want?"

"First, I order you to stop trying to get Winky drunk."

His face fell. "And the filthy little brat says..."

"Second," he said warningly, "I want you to hand over the locket you took from Sirius' house."

Kreacher's eyes grew wide. "Master wants the locket, he wants Slytherin's locket... Kreacher will not give it to the filthy brat, no..."

"Kreacher, I ordered you to give it to me. Now where is it?"

Dobby, who was watching this exchange, grew furious. "Give Harry Potter his locket!"

"It's not his!" Kreacher turned on Dobby, raising the frying pan over his head.

"Kreacher, stop it!"

As if trying to fight a pair of invisible hands, Kreacher held the frying pan in mid-air, trying desperately to swing it at Dobby, then gave up and brought it back to his side.

"Thank you, sir," Dobby said, wiping his brow.

"No problem. Now I want that locket, Kreacher."

"Kreacher cannot give it to Master!" said Kreacher triumphantly.

"And why is that?"

"Kreacher does not have it," he said sadly. "One of the brats has stolen it, my poor Mistress, what would she say, her only son..."

"Who stole it, Kreacher?"

"Filthy, filthy brat..."

Harry seized his tea towel. "Who stole it?"

Kreacher blinked. "The thief," he whispered, barely audible. "The one with the pipe."

"Mundungus," Harry spat. He let go of him. "Tell me, Kreacher. Where did the locket come from?"

Kreacher looked as though he were about to burst. "Filthy brat, we will not..."

"Tell me!"

"Mistress' only son brought it back. He told Kreacher to keep it safe and out of sight, and never let anyone have it."

"Regulus?"

Kreacher nodded.

"How did he get the locket?"

"Kreacher went with Master to a cave, then in a boat to an island. Kreacher had to force Master to drink an awful potion, and Master took a locket from the goblet; then Master put another locket in its place and we went-- dead bodies everywhere, awful, awful Dark things-- and Master Stunned Kreacher so he would not have to see. Then Kreacher woke up at home and Master handed over the locket and said to keep it safe and never let anyone have it. And that was the last time Kreacher saw Master." He hung his head.

"So that's it," Harry said to himself. "And Mundungus Fletcher has it... or sold it..." He thought fast. "I need to get to Knockturn Alley." And then he squashed against the wall, as he was nearly knocked over again by the same small house-elf, who made another brief bow and quick apology. "And I need to get to breakfast." He exited the kitchens, as Dobby waved furiously.

"So Dung did have it?" Hermione took a bite of toast.

Harry nodded.

"But Mad-Eye gave him Veritaserum," protested Ron. "I mean..."

"What were the questions he asked?" Hermione interrupted.

"Huh?" Harry and Ron exchanged a look.

"The questions! What did Mad-Eye ask Mundungus? He asked him if he'd taken it, right? So maybe he still hadn't taken it at the time." She raised an eyebrow.

"That rotten git," Harry muttered. "Well at any rate, I'll bet he sold it to Borgin and Burkes. Kreacher said the locket belonged to Slytherin--"

"So Mad-Eye was right about that--"

"Which means I've got to get to Knockturn Alley. I can't Apparate, and I'm not waiting for the next trip to Hogsmeade... I doubt there'll be any this year anyway..."

"What about McGonagall's old office?" Ron suggested. "Tonks is in there now. I'm sure if you told her what was going on, she'd let you use the Floo Network to get there."

"Ronald Weasley," said Hermione sternly, "Tonks would not let Harry use her fireplace, no matter if she is our friend or not. She's a teacher now."

Even though Harry hoped that she was wrong, he knew she was right-- as always.

"Furthermore," she continued, "there is no way Harry is going to just waltz into Borgin and Burkes and demand that he hand over a locket that belonged to Salazar Slytherin."

Ron rolled his eyes and speared a sausage with his fork. "What else do you propose, then?"

"Let's go to Potions," she suggested. "And then you two can continue with your ridiculous plots later." Grabbing up her books, she left the table.

"What's with her?" Harry said.

Ron shrugged. "Dunno."

"You two have a fight or something?"

He shook his head. "No, but she's bloody impossible sometimes." A smile crossed his face. "Worth it, though."

Harry laughed and gathered his books. "You go ahead. I've got to get something." He dashed up to the dormitories, rummaged through his trunk until he found a small pouch, then tucked it away in his robes and made his way down to the dungeons and sat down at a table with Ron, Padma Patil, and Hermione, who was already absorbed in the first chapter.

"I'm surprised you're only just starting now," Ron jested.

She looked up, perfectly straight-faced. "Oh, I've already read half of the book; I just wanted to refresh my memory before class."

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, and Harry had to suppress his laughter. They watched as their classmates strode in, followed by Professor Slughorn, puffed up as usual in a velvet waistcoat. It was forest green today.

"Harry, m'boy!" He clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Can't wait to see what you'll whip up for me this year."

"Uh, right, sir," Harry faltered, trying to sound sure of himself. Ruefully, he pictured Snape's book, lying in a pile of stuff in the Room of Requirement.

Hermione gave him a look that plainly was a sarcastic version of "Good luck," and took out her quill.

"Good morning, all," Slughorn greeted them, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I know that your N.E.W.T.'s are this year, but I really do think we'll have some fun in here this year. I've got some surprises brewing for you--" he chuckled at his little joke-- "but they shouldn't be too difficult for you, right?" He threw a wink in Harry's direction. "We'll be working with some difficult potions this year, some of which are strictly regulated by the Ministry. We'll do a Memory Draught and an Elixir of Strength, but we're also going to brew up some Polyjuice Potion and even a little Veritaserum."

The dungeon remained silent as the students exchanged surprised glances.

"Today will be a pretty light day for you. The first potion we'll be starting on is Polyjuice Potion. We talked about it last year, but never got around to making it. The instructions aren't in your books, so I've written them here on the blackboard for you-- since the lacewing flies have to stew for so long, I want you to get started today. Make sure to copy down the instructions. Right then, in groups of four... off you go!"

"What a challenge," Ron said with a roll of his eyes.

"Who's the one that did it the first time?" Hermione reminded him, as she went to the cupboard to retrieve the lacewing flies.

Ron said nothing; he flipped his book open and began idly turning pages.

"So," Padma began, breaking the awkward silence, "how was your summer?" She turned to Ron. "Your brother got married, right?"

"Yup. Just before school."

"Where was the wedding?"

"It was actually in the backyard at our house," he told her, "in the garden."

"Ohh," she breathed, "how romantic! My cousin Mala got married at our house two years ago, right in front of this little waterfall we have. I love outside weddings."

Ron found himself smiling. "Yeah. It was nice. We had a waterfall too, well sort of, and we made sure to get all the gnomes out, of course..."

Padma giggled.

A jar slammed down onto the table, and Harry looked up to see Hermione glaring down at Ron. "Ronald," she said evenly, "why don't you get a cauldron."

"I'll just... write down the directions," Padma said, cowed, and took out her quill.

The rest of the Potions lesson passed in relative silence as everyone concentrated on getting their Polyjuice Potion started. Ron was flushed as he added the lacewing flies to the cauldron, and Hermione stirred just a bit too vigorously, splashing some of the solution on Anthony Goldstein's robes as he passed.

"Oho!" Slughorn exclaimed, hands on his belly, passing by the cauldron. "Miss Granger, well done. If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd done this before." He smiled down at her, and she bent all her concentration on stirring the lacewing flies.

"It should be alright now, don't you think?" she asked.

He peered into the cauldron, stroking his mustache. "Oh, yes. I think you can safely leave it for today. We'll let the lacewing flies stew and then have a look at it later."

Satisfied with this answer, Hermione extinguished the fire underneath the cauldron, gathered up her things, and without a second look at anyone, exited the room.

"Bloody hell," Ron swore. He turned to Harry, who shrugged.

"Going to see what she's on about?" he asked quietly.

"Let's just clean up," Ron said, and brushed the broken wings off their table with his open palm.

Padma lifted the cauldron and went to set it with the others. "Anthony," she said coolly, passing him by.

"Padma," he replied, just as coolly.

Harry watched this exchange with some interest. "Something happen?" he asked, off-handedly.

"We started dating at the end of last year, and then after my parents died, he decided I was too much baggage to handle," she informed him matter-of-factly, folding up her parchment with the Polyjuice instructions.

"That's awful," Ron said, glaring over Padma's shoulder at Anthony, who was now laughing with Terry Boot. "Slimy git."

She nodded. "At any rate, we're obviously not speaking now."

Harry regarded her with some interest as the three of them ambled toward the door. "I'm glad you and your sister are here, Padma."

"So am I. Parvati and I never liked our aunt very well. We were good friends with our cousin Mala when we were younger, but she went to school at Beauxbatons and now she's married, so it was just her and us since July. I was happy when she told us she wanted us to come back here. This is really the only family I have now."

Harry smiled sadly. "I've felt that way for years."

"Well, I'll see you guys around."

"See you."

Instead of going up to Gryffindor Tower, Harry led Ron straight outdoors into the late summer sunshine.

"Wait-- where are we going? We have Charms in just a couple minutes--"

But Ron followed Harry right down to Hagrid's hut and stood there as he knocked on the door.

"Who's there?"

"It's Harry."

The door swung open. "Well, c'mon in," Hagrid said. "Cup o' tea?"

"Sure," he agreed, speaking for the two of them, and they both sat down in one of the huge chairs. "Hagrid-- I have a favor to ask of you."

"An' wha' type o' favor is tha'?"

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "There's a locket that I need. It used to be in Sirius' house, but Mundungus nicked it, and he pawned it somewhere-- I'm guessing Borgin and Burkes."

Hagrid turned. "Yer askin' me to go ter Knockturn Alley?"

"I'm asking you to find me a way to get there."

He scratched his chin. "Blimey, Harry. I dunno..."

"I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important, Hagrid. It's one of the Horcruxes."

"Professor McGonagall wouldn' be too happy abou' tha'."

"Would you get it for me then?"

Hagrid poured a cup of tea for him and fell into a chair across the table. "She wouldn' be too happy if she found out I was goin' to run errands for students in Knockturn Alley, neither."

"I'm very sure she wouldn't get angry at you if she found it was for," Harry said reasonably.

Hagrid paused at this, then gave Harry a grin. "I think," he said, "that yeh lot are havin' a bad effect on me."

"Is that a yes?"

"Actually, I, uh, I've got ter go down there-- Knockturn Alley-- meself in a few days. Yeh know-- Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent an' all. So I might be able ter drop in-- ask around a bit."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said, with a sigh of relief.

"No promises, now," he warned, refilling Harry's teacup.

Harry drained it and stood up. "Well, we have to get back up to the castle. I have Charms in a few minutes. But... here." He withdrew the pouch from his robe and dropped it in front of Hagrid; a few Galleons spilled out onto the beat-up wooden table. "In case you need to buy the locket back."

Hagrid nodded. "Get on with yeh, then." He looked after them, something like wistfulness in his eyes. "Wait!"

Harry and Ron turned at once, and he put a hand on both of their shoulders. "Yeh know... Fang's always been fond o' yeh, Ron. Would yeh mind... would yeh mind feedin' 'im?"

"Well, sure," Ron agreed, "but Hagrid, aren't you only going to be gone a day?"

Hagrid acted surprised. "Well o' course, Ron, but Fang's a real big dog, an' he eats a lot. He needs feedin' more'n once a day."

Ron shrugged. "Alright," he said. "Do you know when you're going?"

"I'll let yeh know," Hagrid said. "Now get up ter class."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said again, and ran back up to the castle with Ron.

The evening sky burned with vivid carmines and pinks, gilded with an edge of orange fire, bright but softened like an oil painting in low light. It was under this splash of color that Harry and Ginny sat, outlined as a shadow against an ancient cedar tree, watching the sparrows soar across the riotous sky in quiet peace.

"Slughorn," Ginny began, after a long silence during which she spent relishing the feel of Harry absentmindedly playing with her hair, "thinks you must have tutored me in Potions."

Amused, Harry let out a chuckle. "Is that right?"

She nodded. "Got ten points for Gryffindor for my Draught of Living Death." Slipping off her sandals, she dug her toes into the cool soil.

"Congratulations."

She smiled. "I saw Hagrid leave today," she said absently, making little trenches with her toes. "He looked like he was in a hurry. I wonder where he was off to."

"Knockturn Alley," Harry responded, "or at least that's what he told Ron and me..." He related that afternoon's conversation to her, and his strange instructions to take care of Fang.

"Odd," she remarked. "I don't think he would have been seen off by McGonagall and accompanied by Mad-Eye if he was just going to get Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent, though."

Peeling a tuft of moss off of a nearby rock, Harry shrugged. "Maybe McGonagall was just telling him what brand to purchase, and Moody was going along because he needed an extra pair of hands to carry it all."

Playfully, she slugged him on the arm. "Please don't pull the moss up," she reproved gently, watching him wrap it around his finger. "It takes ages to grow, and it's very delicate."

"That," Harry noted, "sounds like something Neville would say."

She laughed, a musical sound. "Ironically, he's the one who told me that, in my second year."

Setting the moss back on the ground, he smiled. "Sorry. My apologies to you, Neville, and the moss."

With a grin, she leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Apology accepted."

Behind them, a stick snapped, and they turned to see Ron, hands jammed in his pockets, a forlorn look papered on his face.

"What's the matter?" Ginny stood, wiping the dirt off her jeans.

Momentarily, Ron regarded his sister, her worried face, her searching eyes; ultimately, he turned back to Harry. "It's Hagrid," he said starkly.

Harry scrambled to his feet, fearing the worst. "What--" He tried getting other words to come out, but his mouth couldn't form a single syllable.

"Hagrid's dead." Ron's voice was lifeless, dull.

Ginny burst into tears, while Harry stood there, shadowed by the cedar leaves, stunned into silence.

"McGonagall just told us," Ron said. "Us-- Hermione and me."

For several moments, the only sound in the trees was Ginny's hiccuping sobs and the crunching of leaves beneath her feet as she went to Harry for comfort. And he held her, automatically folded his arms around her and plunged his fingers into her hair how she liked so well, and hoped that it would all be a dream, or a cruel joke at the very least.

"Stop," Harry finally managed, and Ginny looked up, taken aback. He shook his head and pressed her head against his chest. "Not you," he reassured her. "Keep crying, as long as you need to."

She drew in a shaky breath. "Aren't-- aren't you going to cry?"

Harry supposed this was a good question, but he felt nothing but numb. There was no prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes, no deep well of tears threatening to overflow; only decaying, empty, numbness. "No," he finally said. "I've cried for my parents, and for Sirius, and for Dumbledore; I don't have anything left in me for Hagrid but anger."

Ginny stepped back. "What do you mean?"

He turned to Ron. "Who did it?"

"McGonagall didn't tell us anything, mate."

"She'll tell me." And he drew his wand and headed for the castle.

With a troubled glance at each other, Ginny and Ron hurried after him.

"Yes," Professor McGonagall was saying, "but I don't see how--" She whirled around. "Potter! Mr. Weasley! Miss Weasley! What are you all doing up here, barging into my office?" She stretched out her arms and advanced on them. "Come now, I know you're worked up, but now is not the time!"

"No," Harry said sternly. "I want to know who killed Hagrid."

Minerva McGonagall's lips were pressed into the thin, severe line she reserved for particularly infuriated moments. "Potter. You will take your friends and remove yourself from this room--"

"And," Harry continued, his voice growing louder, "Hagrid was also on an errand for me."

Moody, who was the only other person in the room, piped up then. "What sort of errand?" he wanted to know.

"He was going to see if he could get the locket from Borgin and Burkes for me," Harry explained. "Turns out that Dung stole it after all. I figured that would have been the likeliest place for him to pawn it."

"Might as well give it to you, then." Mad-Eye drew out a clumsily wrapped package and handed it to Harry, who tore off the brown paper immediately, like a child on Christmas morning.

Harry let out a relieved sigh. "It's here," he said, and tried to pry the charm open.

"No dice," Ron commented.

"Then this is the one," confirmed Harry.

"Your money pouch," Moody told him, "is still on Hagrid's table. We managed to get the locket away from old Borgin with some good old brute force." He let out an abbreviated laugh, rather like a low growl, and Professor McGonagall looked away with a disapproving scowl.

Harry chuckled. "I'll have to thank--" He broke off. He wouldn't have to thank him. There would be no thanking Hagrid. "Well-- thank you, at least," he finished lamely.

With a short nod, Moody acknowledged Harry. He didn't like pleasantries, especially in times like these.

"Professor Moody--" Harry had never quite came around to calling him by either his first name, as he had Sirius, or his last name, as he did Lupin. Of course, the real Moody had never taught at Hogwarts, so it had to be strange for the gruff old Auror to hear the words coming out of Harry's mouth. But Harry couldn't worry about titles just now. "Would you tell me who it was that killed Hagrid?"

"Gonna go lookin' for 'em, aren't you?"

There was no point in lying, especially to Mad-Eye. "Yeah."

"Name's Audric Velos," Moody answered, much to the chagrin of Professor McGonagall. "Young French chap, went to school at Durmstrang. Joined up just a few years ago." Leaning heavily on his walking stick, he clomped across the floor to Harry. "You'll meet 'im, you go lookin' for Voldemort," said Moody. His breath reeked of bourbon. "Go ahead an' kill the little codger if you run across 'im."

Ginny wrinkled her nose, turning away, and went to her brother. "He's mad," she whispered.

Ron's gaze slid condescendingly down his nose. "You think?"

"Where is he?"

Moody shrugged. "Apparated away..."

"No," Harry said impatiently, "not Audric. Hagrid."

Moody jerked a thumb over his left shoulder. "He's..."

Rising from her desk, Professor McGonagall's eyes glowed yellow like a cat's. "Alastor!" she reproached. "Surely, Potter doesn't need to see..."

"Dumbledore would have let me!" protested Harry, his voice rising. "I don't need your protection, it's my fault anyway, I asked him to go to Borgin and Burkes for me... I want... I want to apologize..."

"Potter." Moody took him roughly by the shoulders. "Listen to me. It's not your fault. Hagrid and I were going to Knockturn Alley tonight anyway. The attack wasn't at the shop; Velos spotted us in the street. He went for me first and I blocked, then he went right for Hagrid before I had a chance to do anything."

Harry swallowed hard. "Killing Curse?"

"Yup."

He kicked the leg of a chair. "Why did he go with you? Why not some other member of the Order? An Auror... like Tonks..."

Adjusting her glasses, Professor McGonagall gave Harry a calculating look. "Would you rather Tonks be dead?"

"No!" Harry said quickly. "It's just..." He sank down into a chair and rested his hand on the glossy wood of the armrest. "I'd rather it be no one."

"We all would," said the Headmistress consolingly.

He drummed his fingers on the hard walnut, traced the muted floral pattern with the edge of his finger, his ragged fingernails snagging the fabric. "May I see him?" he said at last.

Professor McGonagall said nothing. Moody stared back at her.

"Very well, then," she relented, and Harry was reminded very much of Mrs. Weasley, who always wanted to keep secrets from him, or so it seemed. They just have my best interests at heart, he tried to tell himself, but his heart was hardened; and it took all his might not to stare holes in the back of Professor McGonagall's head, singeing all the stray hairs out of her impeccable librarian's bun.

She brought him through a set of doors, as the portraits mumbled around them. Harry imagined Phineas Nigellus Black was probably making some unfavorable remark, and cursed him silently.

"There," she said tonelessly, and Harry beheld Hagrid, lying motionless on a large upholstered couch, eyes closed as if he were asleep. For some reason, he was very taken aback by this-- he didn't know what he'd expected. Maybe a great stone coffin like Dumbledore's; or a broken and bruised body, fraught with still-bleeding cuts; or maybe just a live Hagrid, sitting at a cauldron, hatching a baby dragon.

"What I wouldn't give for one of his rock cakes right now," came a husky voice, and it was only then he realized that Ron had come with him.

Harry went forward and put a hand on his great arm. It was cold to the touch. "He doesn't belong here."

Ron turned to Professor McGonagall. "Where will he be buried? Here, like Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, right here," she said decidedly.

"It was his home," Ron agreed, thinking this decision was very apt, as he watched his best friend kneel at Hagrid's side.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, so that no one could hear him. "I promise, we'll take good care of Fang. We'll-- we'll bring him to the Burrow. He'll have lots of space to run there..." He broke off, hastily brushing tears away with the back of his hand. Rocking back onto his heels, he thought of all the times Hagrid had gone missing-- his journey to visit the giants, his brief time behind the thick bars of an Azkaban cell, even that short window of time that he had disappeared at the train station, leaving him to find Platform 9¾ on his own. But he had always come back.

"Let's go," he said suddenly, scrambling to his feet. "I don't want to be here anymore."

Ron nodded.

Holding his breath to keep from losing his composure, he went back into the other room, nodded politely at Moody, and automatically slipped his fingers into Ginny's, pressing his palm against hers just to feel her steady pulse. It was reassuring, he thought, as they went silently up the enchanted staircases to Gryffindor Tower.

There was a figure on the couch in the commonroom, a heap of bushy hair and rumpled robes. Hermione emerged from between the cushions, her face red and marked where the upholstery had left indentations on her face. "Harry," she wailed.

At seeing her expression, Harry's eyes flooded like rivers as she launched herself off the couch and buried her face in his shoulder.

Feeling quite out of place, Ron awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. "Ron," she wept, and took solace in a hug. She looked up at them. "I don't think I can handle much more of this death." She wrung free of his grip and went over to Ginny, and they shared a sisterly embrace. "I don't think I can handle much more at all."

"I wonder," Harry mused, giving Hermione's upper arm a squeeze, "if there are Blast-Ended Skrewts up in heaven?"

She smiled through her tears. "For his sake, I certainly hope so."

"She's always been so put-together," Harry said later, when he and Ginny were alone. He held one of Hermione's half-finished elf sweaters in his hands.

Ginny tilted her head.

"Not easily ruffled," he expounded. "This reaction... I don't know, Gin. It kind of scares me."

"Someone she was close to died," said Ginny matter-of-factly. "It's not something that people easily deal with."

"No," said Harry slowly, choosing his next words carefully, "but normally, Hermione would be searching for an answer to his death. She'd be looking for a reason. It's not like her to cry endlessly like this, and not try to figure something out instead."

Ginny thought about this. "Maybe it's not just Hagrid."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "We should go to sleep."

The last thing he wanted to do was leave the comfort of the commonroom. Ginny's eyes blazed into him, and he rose from the couch. "Night, Gin."

"Night." She rose up on her toes to give him a kiss and headed up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. He lingered there in the firelight, watching her vanish into the darkness. The fire flickered and guttered and went out.

Harry instinctively reached for his wand-- but then again, he was going to have to learn to see with his eyes closed anyway. Gingerly, he put a hand out, and toed his way across the carpet, making his way cautiously to the staircase, the heavy piece of Voldemort's soul thumping like a cold, irregular heartbeat against his chest.