"Ron," Harry said as soon as they were in his room back at the Burrow, "I've figured it out! I know who R.A.B. is!"

Ron gazed at him blankly. He was still kind of tired.

"Ron, I know who R.A.B. is."

That's when it hit him. His mouth dropped open and his eyes popped. "R.A.B.? Who?"

"Regulus Black! I should've known, it should have been obvious-"

"Regulus Black?"

"Yes, Sirius' brother! I can't believe I didn't think of it before!"

"Harry, are you sure?" he asked, gazing at him with an odd expression. "It really doesn't make sense. He was a Death Eater, remember?"

"Yeah, but maybe he was only faking it so that he could get closer to Voldemort… that makes sense, doesn't it?" Harry began pacing. "I've got to go tell Hermione."

Ron groaned. "Harry, it's three o'clock in the morning! Can it wait until at least six-thirty?"

"No," Harry said determinedly. "I'm going to go down there…."

"Mum won't like you out of bed at this hour. And she's right; you should be getting some sleep! You're planning on going to track down a Horcrux tomorrow!"

"I'll Apparate," Harry said determinedly. And indeed, he disappeared moments later, leaving Ron utterly disgruntled.

Harry reappeared with a loud crack in the room Hermione shared with Ginny. They had been in the middle of a conversation, and both of them screamed when Harry appeared.

"It's okay!" he hissed, waving a hand to quiet them.

"Harry, what do you think you're doing?" Hermione demanded. "It's three o' clock in the morning, for heaven's sake!"

"Yeah, Ron already told me. Look, Hermione, I need to tell you something."

Hermione glanced at Ginny, who was glaring at Harry, as though daring him to tell Hermione and not her. He sighed. "I've figured out who R.A.B. is," he told her.

"You've what?" she practically shrieked.

"Hermione, shhh!" Ginny hissed. "You're going to wake Mum and Dad. Who's R.A.B., Harry?"

"Someone who was killed a while ago, fighting Voldemort."

"How do you know what he did if you didn't even know his name?"

"It was in a note."

"Where'd you get the note?"

"It was… inside of something that belonged to Voldemort. Look, Ginny, the more I tell you, the more at danger you'll be. I'm not telling you anything else."

"Well, I'm not leaving," she said hotly, folding her arms crossly. "I'll hear anything you tell Hermione."

Harry exhaled exasperatedly. "Fine. Let it be on your own head. Hermione, R.A.B. is Sirius' brother, Regulus!"

"Regulus," she breathed. "Of course, it all makes sense… how could I not have…? Oh, Harry, how did you figure it out?"

"I was looking at that old tapestry in the drawing room, that one with the Black family tree on it. I didn't think of it either, don't worry."

"I didn't know Sirius had a brother," Ginny quipped. Harry nodded.

Hermione's brow had furrowed and her eyes were unfocused, as though she was thinking about something. "What?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Never mind. Do you plan on going to the library any time soon?"

"Sometime, maybe. I'd like to read up on possessions of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw."

"I'm coming with you when you go. There's something I want to look up…."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing big. If it turns out to be something big, I'll tell you what it is. Goodnight, Harry!"

That was a dismissal, and Harry wasn't about to argue with a teenage girl in the middle of the night. He sighed, then Disapparated.

The next morn dawned warm and bright, quite a contrast to what Harry was feeling inside. His nerves were mounting, and he hardly ate any breakfast; it felt as though his insides were made of living, leaden worms. Mrs. Weasley said more than once that he must have not been getting enough to eat, for he looked rather pale.

"Mrs. Weasley," he said abruptly, "Ron, Hermione, and I have to go somewhere today. We might be gone a while."

She paled. "Where are you going?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level. Harry knew she was afraid for all of them.

"I can't tell you. I wouldn't let Ron and Hermione go, but this is something I have to do, and I have no control over them. They refuse to stay here."

Mrs. Weasley looked as though she were about to cry, and indeed, when they said goodbye to her, she sounded as though she had a bad cold. She hugged them all tightly, as though she would never see them again. As, said an unbidden voice in the back of Harry's head, she might not.

Shuddup, Harry snapped at the voice. We'll be fine.

Harry concentrated hard on the image of the Riddle House he had seen only twice; once in a dream, and once in a memory. After the squeezing black bands had ceased trying to suffocate him, he found himself in the middle of the village of Little Hangleton.

The street was deserted (which was a good thing; appearing out of thin air would be hard to explain to a Mugge), and Harry gazed around. He stood across the street from a pub called The Hanged Man. Ron and Hermione Apparated next to him only seconds later.

"We should try to find out something about the house," Harry muttered, nodding at the huge mansion that towered on the hill a couple blocks away, looming like an unwanted omen. "If anyone's tried to go in there, we want to know what happened, so we have some idea of what we're facing."

Hermione nodded, and Ron said, "Good idea."

"The pub's always a good place for gossip. Come on."

Even though it was only just after breakfast, there were six people in the pub besides the bartender. They all glared at the newcomers rather menacingly.

Ron was eyeing the whiskey, but when Hermione paid him sharp glance, he ordered a cup of coffee. Harry and Hermione split the payment; Ron had no Muggle money. The bartender gazed at them suspiciously. "You kids don't live here," he said.

Harry demonstrated his adroit lying skills. "We're thinking about moving here. We're nearly of age, and we're sick of our parents."

He nodded wisely. "Where're you looking?"

Harry shrugged. "Heard that old mansion's been abandoned for years. Something about a ghost. Or murders. I can never keep the haunted stories straight."

The barman had gone slightly pale. He leaned forward. "Look, you kids, don't you never go near that mansion, you hear? There've been all sorts of strange happnin's there."

"Like what?" asked Harry, pulling up a stool. Ron and Hermione followed suit.

"Well," said the barman, tilting his head back, "It started 'bout sixty-five years ago. I was just a kid back then. Rich, snobby family lived up there, named the Riddles. They had a grown-up son, who one day ran off with the lowest filth in the city, a girl called Gaunt. Merope Gaunt. Came back a couple o' years later, sayin' she'd bewitched him, or sommat like that. Then, eighteen years later, they was found dead, lyin'on the floor of their drawin' room. The doctors couldn't find nothin' wrong with 'em- they all looked to be in perfect health, 'cept for the fact that they're dead. It was almost as though they'd been scared to death."

"Really?" said Harry, pretending to be interested even though he'd heard it all before. And unlike the Muggles, he knew exactly how the Riddles had been killed and who the murderer was.

"Yeah. Then, 'bout three years ago, the gardner, Frank, who they suspected for murderin' the Riddles, was foun' dead, also in the drawin' room. Same thing as the Riddles. They couldn't figure out nothin' about how he'd died. They said it mighta been a heart attack, but they couldn't find nothin' wrong with his heart. But there was a look of intense terror on 'is face, just like with the Riddles. As though he'd been scared to death."

"An' then," he continued, his face clouding, "jus' last year a couple o' boys broke in the house for a dare. Only one of 'em came back alive, and he's been clammed up, like a mute, ever since. Doesn't say a word. Freaks out at anything' that moves. The other boy was never found."

Harry felt an involuntary shiver run up his spine, and his cup shook slightly in its saucer. "Did the boy give any hint as to what he encountered in the house?" he asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

The old bartender shook his head. "Didn't say nothin', poor kid. They tried to get 'im to talk for months, but 'e won't, or 'e can't."

Harry drained his coffee. "Well, we won't even be looking into that house, then," he said decisively. "C'mon, Ron, Hermione. We can go to Great Hangleton. I saw a pretty nice house there.

They walked out of the shop, Ron and Hermione not having said a word.

In fearful silence, they started the trek to the foreboding mansion ahead. The sunny, cheerful day didn't warm the empty pit that seemed to be growing in Harry's stomach. He was afraid, and he couldn't figure out why. He had plunged into danger heedlessly before, completely unafraid.

It's because Dumbledore's dead, said that voice again. Every time you've been in danger, Dumbledore has been close enough to step in and help. And now he's gone, and you're on your own. Really, truly on your own.

Except for Ron and Hermione, he told the voice sternly. They'll help me.

He spent the next fifteen minutes arguing with his own head. Ron and Hermione were both rather pale, and Harry expected that he looked the same.

They arrived at the foot of the winding street that led up the hill. It was shut off by a rusted iron gate, which was locked with a padlock. Checking quickly to make sure no Muggles were watching, Harry pulled out his wand and muttered, "Alohamora."

The lock clicked open, and they managed to slide the gate open enough to slip through. They locked it behind them.

"Draw your wands," Harry whispered, as though the fear that lurked on this property demanded silence. "You never know when his tricks will start."

They made their way up the winding road, and soon the village below was completely obscured by the trees that surrounded them. After several minutes of trekking, they came to an archway formed entirely by a thicket of brambles.

Harry slowed apprehensively as he reached it. It seemed to be a tunnel leading though several hundred feet of thorny bushes. They were all brown and dead, though he suspected that they had been alive at one point. He didn't want to be enclosed by anything that could possibly pose a threat, but he couldn't see any way around them.

"We can't go over it," Ron said softly.

"We can't go under it," Hermione muttered.

"We'll have to go through it," Harry said determinedly, subconsciously completing the nursery rhyme, and plunged, without allowing himself another thought, into the bushes.

Nothing happened. Ron and Hermione followed, emboldened by his success.

And then something happened.

The brambles around them began closing in. They came alive, writhing like snakes. The entrance was obscured within seconds. Harry, without thinking, scrambled toward where the exit should be, but found his way blocked. Hermione screamed, Ron bellowed, and Harry twisted with all his might as the feelers twisted their way around his body, ready to suffocate him.

Harry, think! his brain screamed at him. This wasn't a Devil's Snare; he didn't know what it was. "Diffindo!" he shouted, but the curse snapped only one feeler, and it was hopeless against the hundreds that were still converging on him. His legs were paralyzed in the tangles of weeds, and soon his torso and arms would be immovable. And then he would be engulfed, defeated by the first challenge he was faced with.

He tried to Apparate out, but to his dismay found that he couldn't.

"Harry!" said Hermione's muffled voice from somewhere on his right, "If you have your wand, try transfiguring them!"

Harry tried… and failed. About three of them turned into useless rags, but three wasn't enough. But then an idea sprang to mind.

"Gelidusto!" he screamed, and blue sparks flew out the end of his wand.

The freezing spell worked; the branches ceased moving. Harry struggled for a moment, tearing several of them, then worked with his wand, severing them with Diffindo, one at a time.

Hermione was free; Ron was free. Ron's wand hand had been held immobile, disabling his spell-casting ability. Hermione had dropped hers a while back. She ducked down to get it, and, pointing it at Ron, yelled, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Ron began drifting into the air. Taking the hint, he swished and flicked his wand at Harry, who began flying as well. Harry did the same to Hermione.

Through several complicated maneuvers, which the author doesn't feel like thinking of now, they managed to land on the other side of the brambles. They fell in an undignified heap, and didn't bother to get up again for at least five minutes. They were already exhausted. Fighting plants isn't as easy as it seems.

Harry dragged himself off the ground and reached down to help Ron up. Reluctantly, they started back up the hill, wands held tightly, ready for anything.

Strangely enough, they encountered nothing menacing (save for a swing that, much like the Whomping Willow at Hogwarts, attempted to slam passerby in the head, which took only another freezing charm to stop). Finally, they emerged from the trees and found themselves at the front walkway of the huge mansion, shivering in its shadow. A vast lawn sprawled on the other side of it, and at the bottom stood a gardener's hut, which, judging by the broken windows and door hanging off its hinges, had been abandoned.

The front doors were huge, ornate, and carved from oak. Intertwining snakes were set in the door in silver and jade. Harry assumed this had been Voldemort's addition; the resemblance was too close to that of Slytherin for Muggles who knew nothing of Hogwarts or its founders to have replicated. A huge, silver knocker in the twisted form of a snake's head adorned the heavy door. Harry stepped up to seize the handle, but the door opened by itself, as though inviting him to come in and meet its doom.

Gritting his teeth, Harry stepped over the threshold.