"Kelpies can't petrify things," Ron announced, shutting the large book on magical creatures he'd been reading. Draco, who was next to Hermione, reading over his potions notes, just grunted. "So it's not that."

"Not even Slytherin's kelpie?" Harry asked, looking over. Hermione thought he looked tired. Between Quidditch, and homework and his research on the Chamber of Secrets, which had become something of an obsession for him, Hermione wasn't sure how he was still finding time to sleep. She looked at the bags under his eyes again, and thought that maybe he wasn't.

"No mention of it, mate," Ron said apologetically. Harry sighed and closed Nature's Nobility.

"Nothing here either," he said. "I tracked Slytherin to the Gaunt line, but Marvolo Gaunt only had a son, and he's in Azkaban because he killed a family of muggles." Hermione's lip curled in distaste. "Never married," Harry said, propping his head in his hands. "Never had any kids, and," he said, with a glance at a thick ledger beside Draco, "never came to Hogwarts."

"If the Heir and the monster were easy to find," Draco said, "they'd have sorted it all out last time."

"True," Ron said. "At least there haven't been any attacks since Colin. And it's Christmas next week-" Hermione couldn't quite believe how quickly the term had gone. "-so there's that as well-"

"Yeah, I s'pose," Harry said.

"Stop worrying, Harry," Hermione told him. She was frowning, but she tried to keep her voice gentle. "I know you want to help, but no one's expecting you to solve it. Leave it to the teachers."

"I know," Harry said. "I just- I just can't shake the feeling that-" He looked away, mouth turning down. "Never mind." Hermione found herself exchanging looks with both Ron and Draco. "I should go. Wood'll make me do extra laps if I'm late." He stood, tucking the books they'd been reading under his arm, so that he could return them to Madam Pince on the way out. Hermione was just trying to think of an excuse that would let her go with him, when Ron stood.

"Mind if I come?" he asked. Harry, who probably would have been surprised or suspicious if Hermione or even Draco offered to go, just bobbed his head. The boys were talking about Quidditch before they were even out of the library, and Harry already looked more relaxed. Ron glanced back, once, from the library doors, and met Hermione's eye.

Don't worry, the look said, I'll keep an eye on him. Hermione smiled.

"I think I might head back," Hermione said, tossing her own things into her bag. She thought Ginny should be heading down to dinner and hoped to catch her on the way. It had been a few weeks since that day in the library – at this very table, in fact – and Hermione had tried to talk to Ginny about her mystery boy several times, but never had any luck. There was always an excuse, or Ginny was with other people, or, Ginny was nowhere to be found. Hermione suspected she was avoiding her, and worried that she'd somehow managed to upset or offend the other girl.

"Wait," Draco said. "I'll come too."

"You're not finished," Hermione said, frowning.

"I'll finish it in the common room."

"Don't leave it because of me," she said. "I can walk alone, you know."

"I'm hungry though, too," Draco said. He flicked his wand, and his things stacked themselves into a neat pile, which he tucked into his bag. He stood. Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything; she hadn't missed the fact that none of the boys had let her go anywhere by herself since Colin's attack. There was always one of them with her, and she appreciated it, she did, but she also thought it was a bit silly. If Slytherin's Heir wanted to attack her, the fact that she had her non-muggleborn friends with her, probably wouldn't stop them.

They talked about Christmas on the way back; Draco was spending his time split between Harry's and Ron's; Harry was spending three days in France toward the end of the break, with Mr Lupin and Tonks, and Draco refused to go home to the Manor. Hermione suspected that had everything to do with not wanting to deal with his father or Dobby, but she didn't ask, and Draco didn't volunteer the information.

They passed Fred and George on the way up; they were running late to Quidditch training, and they also passed Neville and Parvati, who were heading down to dinner, and promised to save seats for Hermione and Draco.

"Longmane," Draco said, to get past the Fat Lady. "I'm just going to put my things away, Granger. I'll be down in a few minutes." Hermione nodded, but her attention was fixed on Ginny, who'd just disappeared into her dormitory. Hermione followed her up, and knocked on the door. There was no answer from inside.

"Ginny?" Hermione pushed the door open. The dormitory was empty, and the bathroom door on the far side was open, and the bathroom itself was dark. Ginny's bed was messy and unmade, and her diary was resting on her pillow, but Ginny herself was nowhere in sight, even though Hermione had just seen her in here, and there was nowhere else she could have gone.

Perturbed, Hermione closed the door and continued upstairs to put her own things away before dinner.

Christmas passed without incident. Draco spent the first few days playing chess and Exploding Snap at Grimmauld with Potter, and the day before Christmas, the four younger Weasleys Flooed over and Granger's parents drove her around, and they spent the day in the park across the road, having what Draco thought might have been the most intense snowball fight he'd ever had; it had been Draco, Potter, Black and She-Weasley against McKinnon, the twins, Granger and Weasley, and they'd all been cold, wet, battered, and extremely pleased with themselves by the time they trudged back inside.

Kreacher had told them off for tracking snow through the hallway, but obviously wasn't too mad because he'd served them all a hot bowl of French onion soup and fresh, steamy bread, and cast warming and drying charms on their clothes.

"-sounds brilliant," Black said. His grin was enormous, and Draco wondered what the twins had said; the three of them had their heads together. "Just the two of you?"

"Shh," Weasley One said, waving at Weasley and Weaslette, who were taking bets on the colour of the jumpers they'd get that year.

"They're not listening," Weasley Two said. "But yeah, just us. It's an idea we've had for a while, but now we're actually old enough to do the magic needed…"

"As long as you're not messing around with anything too dangerous-"

"Nothing too bad," Weasley One said. "But that's why we've mentioned it; we were wondering if we could borrow a few books from your library. Madam Pince tells McGonagall when we take books out at Hogwarts and what they are-"

"Can't blame her," Weasley Two said fairly, "given some of the stuff we've researched, but it's a bit of a pain. And she knows we get books through Lee, too, now-"

"-and we'd rather avoid the awkward questions-"

"Definitely don't want any of this getting back to Mum-"

"You can borrow whatever you need," Black said. "I'll show you how everything's arranged." He stood, bowl of soup still in hand, and grabbed another slice of bread from the middle of the table. The twins stood and followed him upstairs, and Draco wondered what was going on. So, apparently, did McKinnon.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," she said, getting to her feet. "We'll have to continue this conversation later; someone's got to make sure the children-" Draco thought her tone and smile made it very clear that she included Black in that. "-don't cause too much trouble." Hermione laughed as McKinnon hurried up the stairs.

"What was that about?" She-Weasley asked.

"Not sure," Draco told her, shrugging, and let himself be drawn into the conversation about jumpers.

Draco's, as he found out when he arrived at the Burrow for their Christmas lunch, was a nice maroon colour, which Mrs Weasley said looked nice with his pale skin. Weasley scrunched up his face and seemed relieved he'd been given a blue one, but Draco was just touched that he'd been given one at all, and pleased that his wasn't gaudy orange like Weasley Two's, or pale pink; She-Weasley seemed rather unimpressed with the colouring of her jumper, and even more unimpressed with the fact that she owed Weasley a sickle.

Draco had been at the Burrow before, of course, but never for more than a day at a time, and never when he was the only guest. He hadn't quite been sure what to expect, but it turned out to be about as different to the Manor as it was possible to be. For all that it had six bedrooms and was several storeys high, it was not a big house, and Draco was constantly bumping into people on the landing, or being dragged downstairs for Quidditch in the orchard, or to play a card game in the sitting room.

And, he had to help out around the house... Well, that wasn't entirely true; Mrs Weasley actually told him not to help her children, and Draco took it as a challenge. He helped Weasley feed the chickens and gnome the garden, helped Prefect Weasley set the dining table and helped She-Weasley hang out the washing. Father and Hydrus would have been horrified but Draco felt rather pleased with himself for discovering the clothespeg, and so what if he'd embarrassed himself by asking why the Weasleys only used one knife and one fork when they ate.

"Just some light reading?" Padfoot asked, coming to perch on the arm of the armchair Harry was in. The scent of what could have been pasta drifted out of the kitchen, followed by Marlene's voice, coaxing Tonks through the recipe. Tonks' cooking hadn't improved in her time away from her parents and Kreacher, and Moony had confided that he often ate at Beauxbatons before coming home. Harry didn't blame him, after the watery, well-intentioned ratatouille Tonks had attempted to make on their first night in France.

Her Auror skills had, though; it had been Tonks and Padfoot that stayed up late, talking, after Harry and Marlene and Moony went to bed. Harry had been able to hear them from his makeshift bed on the couch, talking about the intricacies of warding, and various duelling techniques, and they'd had a spectacular duel the day before – just for fun – and Tonks had absolutely trounced Padfoot. Moony had just looked smug.

"Yep," Harry said, reading over the page on the Slytherin family, for what felt like the hundredth time.

"I thought Kreacher was losing it even more when he said he couldn't find Master Regulus' favourite book." Padfoot arched an eyebrow. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Want to tell me what this is about?"

"It's him," Harry said, without looking up. "I know it is. I just don't know how."

"You mean the Chamber of Secrets?" Harry nodded.

"I said we couldn't rule him out," Padfoot said. "I didn't say it was him. Even Dumbledore didn't-"

"It's him," Harry said again. He flicked to the Selwyn page, and skimmed over the familiar family history and the familiar names on the family tree.

"Ah, kiddo," Padfoot said, "what have we done to you?" Something in his tone made Harry look up.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Padfoot said, smelling sad, "that Voldemort's not the only bad person out there. Look at my cousin Bella, or Peter, or-"

"They're all his, though," Harry said.

"Then look at that Umbridge woman in the Ministry." Padfoot tapped the page Harry was looking at, where, on a side chain of the Selwyn family tree, Umbridge's name was printed. "Or Blaise's mother- How is Blaise?"

"All right," Harry said. "I only see him in Potions and Defence, but he said he's at his Dad's for Christmas, so-"

"Good," Padfoot said, nodding.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Harry asked. "That it's him."

"Honestly? Yes, it seems like the sort of thing he'd do… but how? Why? My sources and Dumbledore's have him placed abroad-"

"You've been talking to Dumbledore?"

"There's a monster loose in the school, of course I've been talking to Dumbledore." Padfoot looked at Harry like he was daft. Harry felt silly for not realising that earlier. "I've also been talking to Quirrell."

"Quirrell?"

"The man that had Voldemort in his head for a year," Padfoot said.

"I know who he is," Harry said, scowling. "What did he have to say?"

"About the Chamber?" Harry nodded. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"No. He'd never even heard of it. And it's all- I hate to be blunt here, kiddo, but what's the one thing that Voldemort wants?"

"A body," Harry said. "To be himself again, rather than- whatever he is now." Clearly, this wasn't the answer Padfoot had expected. Harry cocked his head. "What were you going to say?"

"Doesn't matter," Padfoot said, looking grim. "A body then- yeah, well- How does he get a body from the Chamber? Slytherin's monster attacks muggleborns, it doesn't convert them into body parts for the Heir to use, or a restorative potion-"

"How do you know?" Harry asked stubbornly.

"Because this happened fifty years ago," Padfoot sighed. "And it wasn't- it wasn't for some greater purpose, it was just to prove a stupid point about blood purity." He sighed, and they were silent for a minute or so before Padfoot spoke again. "I'm not saying it's not him, I'm just saying, with what we know, it doesn't fit."

As it turned out, it didn't need to fit. Much later that night, after dinner, and after he'd been coaxed into going for a walk with Padfoot and Moony, Harry was tucked under a blanket on the couch, poring over Nature's Nobility again. He was sure he'd regret being up so late, when tomorrow he had to catch an international portkey back to London so that he could catch the train back to school, but he couldn't help himself.

With a guilty glance at the guest room, where Padfoot and Marlene were sleeping, Harry adjusted his wand so that the light fell more evenly over the Gaunt page. The old Prophet cutting of Regulus' that they'd found in the book when they first moved into Grimmauld was there; the one of the old, vaguely-monkeyish man wearing the ugly ring and making the rude hand gesture, the hand-gesture that Regulus, Merlin-knew-why, had circled. Harry glanced at it and then moved it aside so he could read the actual page.

Prestigious family… lost wealth in goblin rebellion… nothing left but pride in the end… Line extinct. Harry skimmed over the paragraph he'd read so many times before. Only there, at the very end of the paragraph, the sentence Line extinct had been crossed out. Heart pounding, because that was not the case in the school's copy, Harry held the page up for closer inspection.

Regulus? he wondered, looking at the alteration. He scanned the rest of the page, looking for something, for anything. Harry froze; there, at the very bottom of the family tree were two lines, and five words, etched in, in what could only be Regulus' neat handwriting, and in the same ink that had been used at the top of the page.

One of the lines descended from Marvolo Gaunt to connect him to three words: Merope Gaunt. Squib? And the second line descended from her to connect to two words: Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle didn't have a father, so either Regulus hadn't known him, or hadn't cared. Harry didn't know or recognise the name Tom, but it meant something to him, all the same. Using the newspaper cutting as a bookmark, Harry shut the book, dimmed his wand, climbed off the couch, and padded over to the guest room door. He knocked, once, softly, but neither Padfoot or Marlene replied.

Harry opened the door and tiptoed over to Padfoot's bedside. In the faint wandlight, Harry could see that his godfather was very obviously asleep – and had even left drool on the pillow – and so Harry reached out and shook him. Padfoot mumbled something, and opened one eye.

"Harry?"

"Padfoot," he said, "Who's Tom Riddle?"

"I was right," Harry said, only a few minutes later, when Sirius had managed to find trousers and join him in the sitting room. Harry had pushed the book, open on the Gaunt page into Sirius' hands, so that he could read Regulus' notes.

Sirius had several words that he would have liked to say in response, but none of them were very polite, and he didn't seem able to make his mouth move to say them anyway. He wasn't surprised. He'd never said it wasn't Voldemort, just that – with the information they'd had to work with – it had seemed unlikely.

"I told you," Harry said, but didn't seem happy about it at all. He was very pale, and was sitting very still. "What do we do?"

"Get you home, and safe, and then I suppose I'll Floo to the school and tell Dumbledore," Sirius said, finally managing to find his voice.

"Home?" Harry asked.

"Yes, home," Sirius said.

"But wouldn't it make sense for me to come with you? I can just stay at the school, that way, instead of having to catch the train back-"

"Back?" Sirius asked. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "You aren't going back, Harry-"

"I am," Harry started, but Sirius cut him off.

"No," he said. "We've just found out that the lunatic that wants to kill you is somewhere, undetected in your school, with access to some sort of monster, Harry. I know I'm fairly relaxed, and that I give you a lot of freedom with what and how you do things, but you're mental if you think I'm going to let you pack your trunk and hop back on the train-"

"I'm not mental," Harry said, sounding a bit hurt. Sirius looked at him and wasn't surprised to see his jaw was set, the way James' always used to when he was going to be stubborn about something. "I am going back, though. You said it yourself, there's no way for him to get a body out of this-"

"That we know of," Sirius said.

"-and," Harry said, ignoring him, "so far, there've been two attacks but no one's died. There's nothing to suggest that there's anything going on except him trying to prove a stupid point about blood purity."

"And what if that's not what it's about?" Sirius asked. "What if it's about you-"

"I'm a halfblood, I'm not a target."

"Harry-"

"The only things that have attacked me this year, so far, are Dobby with the bludger, and stupid Lockhart." Sirius growled quietly at the mention of Lockhart, but refused to be distracted.

"That isn't the point-"

"What about last year?" Harry asked.

"What about it?" Sirius asked, annoyed.

"When we knew it was him, and we knew he was around, and you said 'be careful' and let me go back to school anyway!"

"And you nearly died," Sirius snapped, "because you refused to let us handle it-"

"Because you did die," Harry snapped, right back at him. "And Dumbledore and Moony were off sorting that out, and someone had to stop him, didn't they?!"

"No one said it had to be you-"

"What in Merlin's name are you two arguing about out here?" Sirius hadn't heard the door open, but Dora was standing in the doorway of her and Remus' bedroom, blinking at them. "It's two in the bloody morning, for Godric's sake. I have work tomorrow." Harry could see Remus sitting in bed behind her, but he obviously knew better than to interrupt.

"Sorry we woke you," Sirius said. "Go back to sleep, we're finished talking anyway." Dora's eyes narrowed, but she retreated inside and closed her door.

"We're not finished," Harry said, looking mutinous.

"I'm always happy to discuss things with you, and hear what you've got to say," Sirius said firmly. "But I'm the adult here, and when it comes down to it, I'm responsible for you, and it's my-"

"It's no one's choice," Harry snapped. "There's a prophecy that says so."

"You're twelve for Godric's sake. It's not your job to fix it. This is not yours to deal with."

"And I don't want to deal with it," Harry snarled. "But I'm not going to hide at home with Kreacher while all of my friends are at school-"

"Your friends aren't targets like you are-"

"Hermione's a muggleborn! She's the only one that we know for sure is a real target!"

"Then maybe she should stay home too."

"I'm not staying home."

"So you'll go to school so you can throw yourself in front of one of the monster's victims? Is that your plan, Harry?"

"I would love for Dumbledore to handle this, or for you and the rest of the Aurors to, because I don't want to. But I'm not going to stay home and do nothing, just because that's safe. You fought him in the war-"

"I was of age," Sirius said. "I was an adult-"

"Voldemort doesn't care!" Harry bellowed.

"I do! You're mine to look after! Leave this to me, and to Dumbledore to fix-"

"But he won't," Harry said. "Otherwise it would have been sorted last time, wouldn't it." It wasn't a question. "I can hear the monster, and there's my scar to tell me if he's close. I'm not asking to fight him and his monster myself, I'm asking to help."

When he spoke to Dumbledore, Sirius was going to make him close the bloody school so that Harry couldn't go back, even if he wanted to.