Chapter 27:
Normal Pov
Seconds later, Harry's lungs expanded gratefully and he opened his eyes: They were now standing in the middle of a familiar small and shabby square. Tall, dilapidated houses looked down on them from every side. Number twelve was visible to them, for they had been told of its existence by Dumbledore, its Secret-Keeper, and they rushed toward it, checking every few yards that they were not being followed or observed. They raced up the stone steps, and Harry tapped the front door once with his wand. They heard a series of metallic clicks and the clatter of a chain, then the door swung open with a creak and they hurried over the threshold.
As Harry closed the door behind them, the old-fashioned gas lamps sprang into life, casting flickering light along the length of the hallway. It looked just as Harry remembered it: eerie, cobwebbed, the outlines of the house-elf heads on the wall throwing odd shadows up the staircase. Long dark curtains concealed the portrait of Sirius's mother. The only thing that was out of place was the troll's leg umbrella stand, which was lying on its side as if Tonks had just knocked it over again.
"I think somebody's been in here," Hermione whispered, pointing toward it.
"That could've happened as the Order left," Ron murmured back.
"So where are these jinxes they put up against Snape?" Harry asked.
"Maybe they're only activated if he shows up?" suggested Ron.
Yet they remained close together on the doormat, backs against the door, scared to move farther into the house. Juliunna was motionless, her knowing eyes darting across the hall.
"Well, we can't stay here forever," said Harry, and he took a step forward.
"Severus Snape?" Came a whisper.
Mad-Eye Moody's voice whispered out of the darkness, making all three of them jump back in fright. "We're not Snape!" croaked Harry, before something whooshed over him like cold air and his tongue curled backward on itself, making it impossible to speak. Before he had time to feel inside his mouth, however, his tongue had unraveled again.
The other three seemed to have experienced the same unpleasant sensation. Ron was making retching noises; Hermione stammered, "That m-must have b-been the T-Tongue-Tying Curse Mad-Eye set up for Snape!"
Gingerly Harry took another step forward. Something shifted in the shadows at the end of the hall, and before any of them could say another word, a figure had risen up out of the carpet, tall, dust-colored, and terrible; Hermione screamed and so did Mrs. Black, her curtains flying open; the gray figure was gliding toward them, faster and faster, its waist-length hair and beard streaming behind it, its face sunken, fleshless, with empty eye sockets: Horribly familiar, dreadfully altered, it raised a wasted arm, pointing at Harry.
"No!" Harry shouted, and though he had raised his wand no spell occurred to him. "No! It wasn't us! We didn't kill you "
On the word kill, the figure exploded in a great cloud of dust: Coughing, his eyes watering, Harry looked around to see Hermione crouched on the floor, by the door with her arms over her head, and Ron, who was shaking from head to foot, patting her clumsily on the shoulder and saying, "It's all r-right... It's g-gone..."
Dust swirled around Harry like mist, catching the blue gaslight, as Mrs. Black continued to scream.
"Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonor, taint of shame on the house of my fathers "
"SHUT UP!" Harry bellowed, directing his wand at her, and with a bang and a burst of red sparks, the curtains swung shut again, silencing her.
"That... that was..." Hermione whimpered, as Ron helped her to her feet.
"Yeah," said Harry, "but it wasn't really him, was it? Just something to scare Snape."
"Yep." Juliunna said, popping her lips.
Had it worked, Harry wondered, or had Snape already blasted the horror-figure aside as casually as he had killed the real Dumbledore? Nerves still tingling, he led the other two up the hall, half-expecting some new terror to reveal itself, but nothing moved except for a mouse skittering along the skirting board.
"Before we go any farther, I think we'd better check," whispered Hermione, and she raised her wand and said, "Homenum revelio."
Nothing happened.
"Well, you've just had a big shock," said Ron kindly. "What was that supposed to do?"
"It did what I meant it to do!" said Hermione rather crossly. "That was a spell to reveal human presence, and there's nobody here except us!"
"And old Dusty," said Ron, glancing at the patch of carpet from which the corpse-figure had risen.
"Let's go up," said Hermione with a frightened look at the same spot, and she led the way up the creaking stairs to the drawing room on the first floor.
Hermione waved her wand to ignite the old gas lamps, then, shivering slightly in the drafty room, she perched on the sofa, her arms wrapped tightly around her. Ron crossed to the window and moved the heavy velvet curtains aside an inch.
"Can't see anyone out there," he reported. "And you'd think, if Harry still had a Trace on him, they'd have followed us here. I know they can't get in the house, but what's up, Harry?"
Harry had given a cry of pain: His scar had burned against as something flashed across his mind like a bright light on water. He saw a large shadow and felt a fury that was not his own pound through his body, violent and brief as an electric shock.
"What did you see?" Ron asked, advancing on Harry. "Did you see him at my place?"
"No, I just felt anger he's really angry "
"But that could be at the Burrow," said Ron loudly. "What else? Didn't you see anything? Was he cursing someone?"
"No, I just felt anger. I couldn't tell-"
Harry felt badgered, confused, and Hermione did not help as she said in a frightened voice, "Your scar, again? But what's going on? I thought that connection had closed!"
"It did, for a while," muttered Harry; his scar was still painful, which made it hard to concentrate. "I think it's started opening again whenever he loses control, that's how it used to "
"But then you've got to close your mind!" said Hermione shrilly. "Harry, Dumbledore didn't want you to use that connection, he wanted you to shut it down, that's why you were supposed to use Ocullamancy! Otherwise Voldemort can plant false images in your mind, remember?"
"Hermione!" Juliunna snapped. She sat down on the couch next to Harry. "Dumbledore said himself that Voldemort was aware of the connection. I think we can be safe that Voldemort's not going to use this anytime soon. There's not much he can do now." She said.
"But he can lure him out with someone he cares about-!"
"Harry," Juliunna said, ignoring Hermione. "I know the reason that your Occumalacy failed with Snape. You were under pressure, you had hateful feelings inside you and you had no drive to complete those lessons-!"
"I tried-!"
"You tried to get it over with as fast as you can. You tried for short periods of time. If you wait until March 1st, when I can do magic, then I can further your studies in that area. I studied it, and Draco knows a lot of it. He taught me how to do it last year." She said.
"Oh you can do that too?"
"Yep." She shrugged. "Now that you have a competent teacher, I can close your mind to it. But something tells me we'd need it." She said.
"He doesn't need it." Hermione snarled, sitting forward. "Your sure you can teach him?"
"I'm not sure, but I'm sure we have a chance." Juliunna said carefully. Harry sighed. "Alright.
He turned his back on Ron and Hermione, pretending to examine the old tapestry of the Black family tree on the wall. Then Hermione shrieked: Harry drew his wand again and spun around to see a silver Patronus soar through the drawing room window and land upon the floor in front of them, where it solidified into the weasel that spoke with the voice of Ron's father.
"Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched."
The Patronus dissolved into nothingness. Ron let out a noise between a whimper and a groan and dropped onto the sofa: Hermione joined him, gripping his arm.
"They're all right, they're all right!" she whispered, and Ron half laughed and hugged her. "Your father, Arthur Weasley, has a Patronus of a Weasel." Juliunna laughed. "Don't start it." Ron smirked. "Harry," he said over Hermione's shoulder, "I-!"
"It's not a problem," said Harry, sickened by the pain in his head. "It's your family, 'course you were worried. I'd feel the same way." He thought of Ginny. "I do feel the same way."
The pain in his scar was reaching a peak, burning as it had back in the garden of the Burrow. Faintly he heard Hermione say "I don't want to be on my own. Could we use the sleeping bags I've brought and camp in here tonight?"
He heard Ron agree. He could not fight the pain much longer. He had to succumb.
"Bathroom," he muttered, and he left the room as fast as he could without running.
He barely made it: Bolting the door behind him with trembling hands, he grasped his pounding head and fell to the floor, then in an explosion of agony, he felt the rage that did not belong to him possess his soul, saw a long room lit only by firelight, and the giant blond Death Eater on the floor, screaming and writhing, and a slighter figure standing over him, wand outstretched, while Harry spoke in a high, cold, merciless voice.
"More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time... You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure... Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!"
A log fell in the fire: Flames reared, their light darting across a terrified, pointed white face with a sense of emerging from deep water, Harry drew heaving breaths and opened his eyes.
He was spread-eagled on the cold black marble floor, his nose inches from one of the silver serpent tails that supported the large bathtub. He sat up. Malfoy's gaunt, petrified face seemed burned on the inside of his eyes. Harry felt sickened by what he had seen, by the use to which Draco was now being put by Voldemort.
There was a sharp rap on the door, and Harry jumped as Hermione's voice rang out.
"Harry, do you want your toothbrush? I've got it here."
"Yeah, great, thanks," he said, fighting to keep his voice casual as he stood up to let her in.
Harry woke early next morning, wrapped in a sleeping bag on the drawing room floor. A chink of sky was visible between the heavy curtains. It was the cool, clear blue of watered ink, somewhere between night and dawn, and everything was quiet except for Ron, Juliunna, and Hermione's slow, deep breathing. Harry glanced over at the dark shapes they made on the floor beside him. Juliunna was sleeping on one of the couches, cuddling in the jacket he now noted to be Draco's. Ron had had a fit of gallantry and insisted that Hermione sleep on the cushions from the sofa, so that her silhouette was raised above his. Her arm curved to the floor, her fingers inches from Ron's. Harry wondered whether they had fallen asleep holding hands. The idea made him feel strangely lonely.
He looked up at the shadowy ceiling, the cobwebbed chandelier. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had been standing in the sunlight at the entrance to the marquee, waiting to show in wedding guests. It seemed a lifetime away. What was going to happen now? He lay on the floor and he thought of the Horcruxes, of the daunting complex mission Dumbledore had left him... Dumbledore...
The grief that had possessed him since Dumbledore's death felt different now. The accusations he had heard from Muriel at the wedding seemed to have nested in his brain like diseased things, infecting his memories of the wizard he had idolized. Could Dumbledore have let such things happen? Had he been like Dudley, content to watch neglect and abuse as long as it did not affect him? Could he have turned his back on a sister who was being imprisoned and hidden?
Harry thought of Godric's Hollow, of graves Dumbledore had never mentioned there; he thought of mysterious objects left without explanation in Dumbledore's will, and resentment swelled in the darkness. Why hadn't Dumbledore told him? Why hadn't he explained? Had Dumbledore actually cared about Harry at all? Or had Harry been nothing more than a tool to be polished and honed, but not trusted, never confided in?
Harry could not stand lying there with nothing but bitter thoughts for company. Desperate for something to do, for distraction, he slipped out of his sleeping bad, picked up his wand, and crept out of the room. On the landing he whispered, "Lumos," and started to climb the stairs by wand light.
Thirty minutes later
Juliunna sighed in her sleep and rolled over. She felt warm. Like the sun was pouring its Vitamin heat all over her body. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned over and then-!
"Wake up!" Hermione snapped. Juliunna sat up abruptly, and Hermione pushed her off the couch. "What's up-!"
"Harry's gone!" Hermione shrieked. Juliunna stood up quickly. "What? Did you check upstairs?"
"No. We're doing that now." Hermione said, and then ran for the stairs.
Juliunna shook her head with a frown. "Harry!" She screamed. "What?!" He shouted back.
"Oh, he's upstairs Ron!" Hermione screamed to Ron, and then she stomped up the stairs. Juliunna sat back down and propped her hand under her chin. Ron sat down next to her and laid back down.
A few minutes later, Hermione screamed down the stairs. "Ron! Juliunna! Get up here!" She screamed. Juliunna and Ron tiredly slugged up the stairs. Hermione and Harry were sitting outside a door, staring at the name plate.
"Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulas Arcturus Black." Juliunna read up. "Yep, R.A.B." She said with a shrug.
"Let's find out," said Harry. He pushed the door: It was locked. Hermione pointed her wand at the handle and said, "Alohamora." There was a click, and the door swung open.
They moved over the threshold together, gazing around. Regulus's bedroom was slightly smaller than Sirius's, though it had the same sense of former grandeur. Whereas Sirius had sought to advertise his diffidence from the rest of the family, Regulus had striven to emphasize the opposite. The Slytherin colors of emerald and silver were everywhere, draping the bed, the walls, and the windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, TOUJOURS PUR. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. Hermione crossed the room to examine them.
"They're all about Voldemort," she said. "Regulus seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Death Eaters ..."
A little puff of dust rose from the bedcovers as she sat down to read the clippings. Harry, meanwhile, had noticed another photograph: a Hogwarts Quidditch team was smiling and waving out of the frame. He moved closer and saw the snakes emblazoned on their chests: Slytherins. Regulus was instantly recognizable as the boy sitting in the middle of the front row: He had the same dark hair and slightly haughty look of his brother, though he was smaller, slighter, and rather less handsome than Sirius had been.
"He played Seeker," said Harry.
"What?" said Hermione vaguely; she was still immersed in Voldemort's press clippings.
"He's sitting in the middle of the front row, that's where the Seeker ... Never mind," said Harry, realizing that nobody was listening. Ron was on his hands and knees, searching under the wardrobe. Juliunna looked around too, getting down on her knees. Harry looked around the room for likely hiding places and approached the desk. Yet again, somebody had searched before them. The drawers' contents had been turned over recently, the dust disturbed, but there was nothing of value there: old quills, out-of-date textbooks that bore evidence of being roughly handled, a recently smashed ink bottle, its sticky residue covering the contents of the drawer.
"There's an easier way," said Hermione, as Harry wiped his inky fingers on his jeans. She raised her wand and said, "Accio Locket!"
Nothing happened. Ron, who had been searching the folds of the faded curtains, looked disappointed.
"Is that it, then? It's not here?"
"Oh, it could still be here, but under counter-enchantments," Juliunna said. "Charms to prevent it from being summoned magically, you know."
"Like Voldemort put on the stone basin in the cave," said Harry, remembering how he had been unable to Summon the fake locket.
"How are we supposed to find it then?" asked Ron.
"We search manually," said Hermione.
"That's a good idea," said Ron, rolling his eyes, and he resumed his examination of the curtains.
They combed every inch of the room for more than an hour, but were forced, finally, to conclude that the locket was not there.
The sun had risen now; its light dazzled them even through the grimy landing windows.
"It could be somewhere else in the house, though," said Hermione in a rallying tone as they walked back downstairs. As Harry and Ron had become more discouraged, she seemed to have become more determined. Juliunna had long since gone downstairs. "Whether he'd manage to destroy it or not, he'd want to keep it hidden from Voldemort, wouldn't he? Remember all those awful things we had to get rid of when we were here last time? That clock that shot bolts at everyone and those old robes that tried to strangle Ron; Regulus might have put them there to protect the locket's hiding place, even though we didn't realize it at ... at ..."
Harry and Ron looked at her. She was standing with one foot in midair, with the dumbstruck look of one who had just been Obliviated: her eyes had even drifted out of focus.
"... at the time," she finished in a whisper.
"Something wrong?" asked Ron.
"There was a locket."
"What?" said Harry and Ron together.
"In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it. And we ... we ..."
Harry felt as though a brick had slid down through his chest into his stomach. He remembered. He had even handled the thing as they passed it around, each trying in turn to pry it open. It had been tossed into a sack of rubbish, along with the snuffbox of Wart cap powder and the music box that had made everyone sleepy ...
"Kreacher nicked loads of things back from us," said Harry. It was the only chance, the only slender hope left to them, and he was going to cling to it until forced to let go. "He had a whole stash of stuff in his cupboard in the kitchen. C'mon."
He ran down the stairs taking two steps at a time, the other two thundering along in his wake. They made so much noise that they woke the portrait of Sirius's mother as they passed through the hall.
"Filth! Mudbloods! Scum!" she screamed after them as they dashed down into the basement kitchen and slammed the door behind them. Harry ran the length of the room, skidded to a halt at the door of Kreacher's cupboard, and wrenched it open. There was the nest of dirty old blankets in which the house-elf had once slept, but they were not longer glittering with the trinkets Kreacher had salvaged. The only thing there was an old copy of Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. Refusing to believe his eyes, Harry snatched up the blankets and shook them. A dead mouse fell out and rolled dismally across the floor. Ron groaned as he threw himself into a kitchen chair; Hermione closed her eyes. Juliunna, who was biting into an apple and leaning against the dresser, smirked. "Why don't you call him?"
"Your right," said Harry, and he raised his voice and called, "Kreacher!"
There was a loud crack and the house elf that Harry had so reluctantly inherited from Sirius appeared out of nowhere in front of the cold and empty fireplace: tiny, half human-sized, his pale skin hanging off him in folds, white hair sprouting copiously from his bat like ears. He was still wearing the filthy rag in which they had first met him, and the contemptuous look he bent upon Harry showed that his attitude to his change of ownership had altered no more than his outfit.
"Master," croaked Kreacher in his bullfrog's voice, and he bowed low; muttering to his knees, "back in my Mistress's old house with the blood-traitor Weasley and the Mudblood, and-! Master Malfoy's Girlfriend!" He said, and Juliunna snickered. Harry turned on Kreacher.
"I forbid you to call anyone 'blood traitor' or 'Mudblood,'" growled Harry. He would have found Kreacher, with his snout like nose and bloodshot eyes, a distinctively unlovable object even if the elf had not betrayed Sirius to Voldemort.
"I've got a question for you," said Harry, his heart beating rather fast as he looked down at the elf, "and I order you to answer it truthfully. Understand?"
"Yes, Master," said Kreacher, bowing low again. Harry saw his lips moving soundlessly, undoubtedly framing the insults he was now forbidden to utter.
"Two years ago," said Harry, his heart now hammering against his ribs, "there was a big gold locket in the drawing room upstairs. We threw it out. Did you steal it back?"
There was a moment's silence, during which Kreacher straightened up to look Harry full in the face. Then he said, "Yes."
"Where is it now?" asked Harry jubilantly as Ron and Hermione looked gleeful.
Kreacher closed his eyes as though he could not bear to see their reactions to his next word.
"Gone."
"Gone?" echoed Harry, elation floating out of him, "What do you mean, it's gone?"
The elf shivered. He swayed.
"Kreacher," said Harry fiercely, "I order you "
"Mundungus Fletcher," croaked the elf, his eyes still tight shut. "Mundungus Fletcher stole it all; Miss Bella's and Miss Cissy's pictures, my Mistress's gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and-"
Kreacher was gulping for air: His hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then his eyes flew open and he uttered a bloodcurdling scream.
" and the locket, Master Regulus's locket. Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!"
Harry reacted instinctively: As Kreacher lunged for the poker standing in the grate, he launched himself upon the elf, flattening him. Hermione's scream mingled with Kreacher's but Harry bellowed louder than both of them: "Kreacher, I order you to stay still!"
He felt the elf freeze and released him. Kreacher lay flat on the cold stone floor, tears gushing from his sagging eyes.
"Harry, let him up!" Hermione whispered. Juliunna lifted a finger, motioning her to shush.
"So he can beat himself up with the poker?" snorted Harry, kneeling beside the elf. "I don't think so. Right. Kreacher, I want the truth: How do you know Mundungus Fletcher stole the locket?"
"Kreacher saw him!" gasped the elf as tears poured over his snout and into his mouth full of graying teeth. "Kreacher saw him coming out of Kreacher's cupboard with his hands full of Kreacher's treasures. Kreacher told the sneak thief to stop, but Mundungus Fletcher laughed and r-ran ..."
"You called the locket 'Master Regulus's,'" said Harry. "Why? Where did it come from? What did Regulus have to do with it? Kreacher, sit up and tell me everything you know about that locket, and everything Regulus had to do with it!"
The elf sat up, curled into a ball, placed his wet face between his knees, and began to rock backward and forward. When he spoke, his voice was muffled but quite distinct in the silent, echoing kitchen.
"Master Sirius ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my Mistress's heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had proper order; he knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pure blood. For years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns ... and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve ...
And one day, a year after he joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. And Master Regulus said ... he said ..."
The old elf rocked faster than ever.
"... he said that the Dark Lord required an elf."
"Voldemort needed an elf?" Harry repeated, looking around at Ron and Hermione, who looked just as puzzled as he did.
"Oh yes," moaned Kreacher. "And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honor, said Master Regulus, an honor for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do ... and then to c-come home."
Kreacher rocked still faster, his breath coming in sobs.
"So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake ..."
The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up. Kreacher's croaking voice seemed to come to him from across the dark water. He saw what had happened as clearly as though he had been present.
"... There was a boat ..."
Of course there had been a boat; Harry knew the boat, ghostly green and tiny, bewitched so as to carry one wizard and one victim toward the island in the center. This, then, was how Voldemort had tested the defenses surrounding the Horcrux, by borrowing a disposable creature, a house-elf...
"There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it ..."
The elf quaked from head to foot.
"Kreacher drank, and as he drank he saw terrible thing ... Kreacher's insides burned ... Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed ... He made Kreacher drink all the potion ... He dropped a locket into the empty basin ... He filled it with more potion."
"And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island ..."
Harry could see it happening. He watched Voldemort's white, snakelike face vanishing into darkness, those red eyes fixed pitilessly on the thrashing elf whose death would occur within minutes, whenever he succumbed to the desperate thirst that the burning poison caused its victim ... But here, Harry's imagination could go no further, for he could not see how Kreacher had escaped.
"Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island's edge and he drank from the black lake ... and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface ..."
"How did you get away?" Harry asked, and he was not surprised to hear himself whispering.
Kreacher raised his ugly head and looked Harry with his great, bloodshot eyes.
"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he said.
"I know but how did you escape the Inferi?"
Kreacher did not seem to understand.
"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he repeated.
"I know, but "
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it, Harry?" Juliunna said. "He Disapparated!"
"But ... you couldn't Apparate in and out of that cave," said Harry, "otherwise Dumbledore "
"Elf magic isn't like wizard's magic, is it?" said Ron, "I mean, they can Apparate and Disapparate in and out of Hogwarts when we can't."
There was a silence as Harry digested this. How could Voldemort have made such a mistake? But even as he thought this, Hermione spoke, and her voice was icy.
"Of course, Voldemort would have considered the ways of house-elves far beneath his notice ... It would never have occurred to him that they might have magic that he didn't."
"The house-elf's highest law is his Master's bidding," intoned Kreacher. "Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home ..."
"Well, then, you did what you were told, didn't you?" said Hermione kindly. "You didn't disobey orders at all!"
Kreacher shook his head, rocking as fast as ever.
"So what happened when you got back?" Harry asked. "What did Regulus say when you told him what happened?"
"Master Regulus was very worried, very worried," croaked Kreacher. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then ... it was a little while later ... Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell ... and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord ..."
And so they had set off. Harry could visualize them quite clearly, the frightened old elf and the thin, dark Seeker who had so resembled Sirius ... Kreacher knew how to open the concealed entrance to the underground cavern, knew how to raise the tiny boat: this time it was his beloved Regulus who sailed with him to the island with its basin of poison ..."
"And he made you drink the poison?" said Harry, disgusted.
But Kreacher shook his head and wept. Hermione's hands leapt to her mouth: She seemed to have understood something.
"M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had," said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snout like nose. "And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets ..."
Kreacher's sobs came in great rasps now; Harry had to concentrate hard to understand him.
"And he order Kreacher to leave without him. And he told Kreacher to go home and never to tell my Mistress what he had done, but to destroy the first locket. And he drank all the potion and Kreacher swapped the lockets and watched ... as Master Regulus ... was dragged beneath the water ... and ..."
"Oh, Kreacher!" wailed Hermione, who was crying. She dropped to her knees beside the elf and tried to hug him. At once he was on his feet, cringing away from her, quite obviously repulsed.
"The Mudblood touched Kreacher, he will not allow it, what would his Mistress say?"
"I told you not to call her 'Mudblood'!" snarled Harry, but the elf was already punishing himself. He fell to the ground and banged his forehead on the floor.
"Stop him stop him!" Hermione cried. "Oh, don't you see now how sick it is, the way they've got to obey?"
"No one but you cares Hermione." Juliunna whisper snarled in her ear, pulling her up.
"Kreacher stop, stop!" shouted Harry.
The elf lay on the floor, panting and shivering, green mucus glistening around his snot, a bruise already blooming on his pallid forehead where he had struck himself, his eyes swollen and bloodshot and swimming in tears. Harry had never seen anything so pitiful.
"So you brought the locket home," he said relentlessly, for he was determined to know the full story. "And you tried to destroy it?"
"Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it," moaned the elf. "Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work ... So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open ... Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave ..."
Kreacher began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words. Tears flowed down Hermione's cheeks as she watched Kreacher, but she did not dare touch him again. Even Ron, who was no fan of Kreacher's, looked troubled. Harry sat back on his heels and shook his head, trying to clear it.
"I don't understand you, Kreacher," he said finally. "Voldemort tried to kill you, Regulus died to bring Voldemort down, but you were still happy to betray Sirius to Voldemort? You were happy to go to Narcissa and Bellatrix, and pass information to Voldemort through them ..."
"Harry, Kreacher doesn't think like that," said Hermione, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. "He's a slave; house-elves are used to bad, even brutal treatment; what Voldemort did to Kreacher wasn't that far out of the common way. What do wizard wars mean to an elf like Kreacher? He's loyal to people who are kind to him, and Mrs. Black must have been, and Regulus certainly was, so he served them willingly and parroted their beliefs. I know what you're going to say," she went on as Harry began to protest, "that Regulus changed his mind ... but he doesn't seem to have explained that to Kreacher, does he? And I think I know why. Kreacher and Regulus's family were all safest if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all."
"Sirius-!"
Juliunna took this one, crossing her arms with a smirk.
"Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, Harry, and it's no good looking like that, you know it's true. Kreacher had been alone for such a long time when Sirius came to live here, and he was probably starving for a bit of affection. I'm sure 'Miss Cissy' and 'Miss Bella' were perfectly lovely to Kreacher when he turned up, so he did them a favor and told them everything they wanted to know. I know for a fact that Dumbledore said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did ... and so did Sirius." Juliunna said, crossing her arms.
Harry had no retort. As he watched Kreacher sobbing on the floor, he remembered what Dumbledore had said to him, mere hours after Sirius's death: I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human's ...
"Kreacher," said Harry after a while, "when you feel up to it, er ... please sit up."
It was several minutes before Kreacher hiccupped himself into silence. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position again, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes like a small child.
"Kreacher, I am going to ask you to do something," said Harry. He glanced at Hermione for assistance. He wanted to give the order kindly, but at the same time, he could not pretend that it was not an order. However, the change in his tone seemed to have gained her approval: She smiled encouragingly.
"Kreacher, I want you, please, to go and find Mundungus Fletcher. We need to find out where the locket where Master Regulus's locket it. It's really important. We want to finish the work Master Regulus started, we want to er ensure that he didn't die in vain."
Kreacher dropped his fists and looked up at Harry.
"Find Mundungus Fletcher?" he croaked.
"And bring him here, to Grimmauld Place," said Harry. "Do you think you could do that for us?"
As Kreacher nodded and got to his feet, Harry had a sudden inspiration. He pulled out Hagrid's purse and took out the fake Horcrux, the substitute locket in which Regulus had placed the note to Voldemort.
"Kreacher, I'd, er, like you to have this," he said, pressing the locket into the elf's hand. "This belonged to Regulus and I'm sure he'd want you to have it as a token of gratitude for what you "
"Overkill, mate," said Ron as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of shock and misery, and threw himself back onto the ground.
It took them nearly half an hour to calm down Kreacher, who was so overcome to be presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own that he was too weak at the knees to stand properly. When finally he was able to totter a few steps they all accompanied him to his cupboard, watched him tuck up the locket safely in his dirty blankets, and assured him that they would make its protection their first priority while he was away. He then made two low bows to Harry and Ron, gave Juliunna a hug around the knees, and even gave a funny little spasm in Hermione's direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute, before Disapparating with the usual loud crack.
If Kreacher could escape a lake full of Inferi, Harry was confident that the capture of Mundungus would take a few hours at most, and he prowled the house all morning in a state of high anticipation. However, Kreacher did not return that morning or even that afternoon. By nightfall, Harry felt discouraged and anxious, and a supper composed largely of moldy bread, upon which Hermione had tried a variety of unsuccessful Transfigurations, did nothing to help.
Kreacher did not return the following day, nor the day after that. However, two cloaked men had appeared in the square outside number twelve, and they remained there into the night, gazing in the direction of the house that they could not see.
"Death Eaters, for sure," said Ron, as he, Harry, Juliunna, and Hermione watched from the drawing room windows. "Reckon they know we're in here?"
"I don't think so," said Hermione, though she looked frightened, "or they'd have sent Snape in after us, wouldn't they?"
"D'you reckon he's been in here and has his tongue tied by Moody's curse?" asked Ron.
"Yes," said Hermione, "otherwise he'd have been able to tell that lot how to get in, wouldn't he? But they're probably watching to see whether we turn up. They know that Harry owns the house, after all."
"How do they-!?" began Harry.
"Wizarding wills are examined by the Ministry, remember? They'll know Sirius left you the place." Juliunna grumbled, poking her bread sadly.
The presence of the Death Eaters outside increased the ominous mood inside number twelve. They had not heard a word form anyone beyond Grimmauld Place since Mr. Weasley's Patronus, and the strain was starting to tell. Restless and irritable, Ron had developed an annoying habit of playing with the Deluminator in his pocket; This particularly infuriated Hermione, who was whiling away the wait for Kreacher by studying The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and Juliunna, who was trying to read Hogwarts, A History. Both did not appreciate the way the lights kept flashing on and off.
"Will you stop it!" They both cried on the third evening of Kreacher's absence, as all the light was sucked from the drawing room yet again.
"Sorry, sorry!" said Ron, clicking the Deluminator and restoring the lights. "I don't know I'm doing it!"
"Well, can't you find something useful to occupy yourself?" Hermione snarled.
"What, like reading kids' stories?"
"Dumbledore left me this book, Ron "
" and he left me the Deluminator, maybe I'm supposed to use it!"
Unable to stand the bickering, Harry slipped out of the room unnoticed by either of them. He headed downstairs toward the kitchen, which he kept visiting because he was sure that was where Kreacher was most likely to reappear. Halfway down the flight of stairs into the hall, however, he heard a tap on the front door, then metallic clicks and the grinding of the chain.
Every nerve in his body seemed to tauten: He pulled out his wand, moved into the shadows beside the decapitated elf heads, and waited. The door opened: He saw a glimpse of the lamp lit square outside, and a cloaked figure edged into the hall and closed the door behind it. The intruder took a step forward, and Moody's voice asked, "Severus Snape?" Then the dust figure rose from the end of the hall and rushed him, raising its dead hand.
"It was not I who killed you, Albus," said a quiet voice.
The jinx broke: The dust-figure exploded again, and it was impossible to make out the newcomer through the dense gray cloud it left behind.
Harry pointed the wand into the middle of it.
"Don't move!"
He had forgotten the portrait of Mrs. Black: At the sound of his yell, the curtains hiding her flew open and she began to scream, "Mudbloods and filth dishonoring my house "
Ron and Hermione came crashing down the stairs behind Harry, wands pointing, like his, at the unknown man now standing with his arms raised in the hall below. Juliunna, wandless, poked around the hall curiously.
"Hold your fire, it's me, Remus!"
"Oh, thank goodness," said Hermione weakly, pointing her wand at Mrs. Black instead; with a bang, the curtains swished shut again and silence fell. Ron too lowered his wand, but Harry did not.
"Show yourself!" he called back.
Lupin moved forward into the lamplight, hands still held high in a gesture of surrender.
"I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, one of the four creators of the Marauder's Map, married to Nymphadora, usually known as Tonks, and I taught you how to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag."
"Oh, all right," said Harry, lowering his wand, "but I had to check, didn't I?"
"Speaking as your ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I quite agree that you had to check. Ron, Hermione, you shouldn't be so quick to lower your defenses."
They ran down the stairs towards him. Wrapped in a thick black traveling cloak, he looked exhausted, but pleased to see them.
"No sign of Severus, then?" he asked.
"No," said Harry. "What's going on? Is everyone okay?"
"Yes," said Lupin, "but we're all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside "
"We know." Juliunna answered, joining them.
"I had to Apparate very precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that they would not see me. They can't know you're in here or I'm sure they'd have more people out there; they're staking out everywhere that's got any connection with you, Harry. Let's go downstairs, there's a lot to tell you, and I want to know what happened after you left the Burrow."
They descended into the kitchen, where Hermione pointed her wand at the grate. A fire sprang up instantly: It gave the illusion of coziness to the stark stone walls and glistened off the long wooden table. Lupin pulled a few butterbeers from beneath his traveling cloak and they sat down.
"I'd have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater tailing me," said Lupin. "So, you came straight here after the wedding?"
"No," said Harry, "Only after we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a café on Tottenham Court Road."
Lupin slopped most of his butterbeer down his front.
"What?"
They explained what had happened; when they had finished, Lupin looked aghast.
"But how did they find you so quickly? It's impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear."
"And it doesn't seem likely they were just strolling down Tottenham Court Road at the time, does it?" said Harry.
"We wondered," said Hermione tentatively, "whether Harry could still have the Trace on him?"
"Impossible," said Lupin. Ron looked smug, and Harry felt hugely relieved. "Apart from anything else, they'd know for sure Harry was here if he still had the Trace on him, wouldn't they? But I can't see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham Court Road, that's worrying, really worrying."
He looked disturbed, but as far as Harry was concerned, that question could wait.
"Tell us what happened after we left, we haven't heard a thing since Ron's dad told us the family was safe."
"Well, Kingsley saved us," said Lupin. "Thanks to his warning most of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived."
"Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people?" interjected Hermione. Juliunna leaned forward, her eyes wide and intelligent.
"A mixture; but to all intents and purposes they're the same thing now," said Lupin. "There were about a dozen of them, but they didn't know you were there, Harry. They were really looking for Juliunna. Arthur heard a rumor that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; if it's true, he didn't give you away." He said to Harry.
Harry looked at Ron, Juliunna, and Hermione; their expressions reflected the mingled shock and gratitude he felt. He had never liked Scrimgeour much, but if what Lupin said was true, the man's final act had been to try to protect Harry.
"The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom," Lupin went on. "They found the ghoul, but didn't want to get too close and then they interrogated those of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on Juliunna and you, Harry, but of course nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there."
"At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Death Eaters were forcing their way into every Order-connected house in the country. No deaths," he added quickly, forestalling the question, "but they were rough. They burned down Dedalus Diggle's house, but as you know he wasn't there, and they used the Cruciatus Curse on Tonks's family. Again, trying to find out where you went after you visited them. They're all right, shaken, obviously, but otherwise okay."
"The Death Eaters got through all those protective charms?" Harry asked, remembering how effective these had been on the night he had crashed in Tonks's parents' garden.
"What you've got to realize, Harry, is that the Death Eaters have got the full might of the Ministry on their side now," said Lupin. "They've got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They managed to penetrate every defensive spell we'd cast against them, and once inside, they were completely open about why they'd come."
"And are they bothering to give an excuse for torturing Harry's whereabouts out of people?" Juliunna said, an edge to her voice.
"Well," Lupin said. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet.
"Here," he said, pushing it across the table to Harry, "you'll know sooner or later anyway. That's their pretext for going after you."
Harry smoothed out the paper. A huge photograph of his own face filled the front page. He read the headline over it:
WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
Ron and Hermione gave roars of outrage, but Harry and Juliunna said nothing. He pushed the newspaper away; he did not want to read anymore: He knew what it would say. Nobody but those who had been on top of the tower when Dumbledore died, knew who had really killed him and, as Rita Skeeter had already told the Wizarding world, Harry had been seen running from the place moments after Dumbledore had fallen.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Lupin said.
"So Death Eaters have taken over the Daily Prophet too?" asked Hermione furiously.
Lupin nodded.
"But surely people realize what's going on?" Juliunna smirked, tilting her head to the side.
"The coup has been smooth and virtually silent," said Lupin.
"The official version of Scrimgeour's murder is that he resigned; he has been replaced by Pius Thicknesse, who is under the Imperius Curse."
"Why didn't Voldemort declare himself Minister of Magic?" asked Ron.
Lupin laughed.
"He doesn't need to, Ron. Effectively, he is the Minister, but why should he sit behind a desk at the Ministry? His puppet, Thicknesse, is taking care of everyday business, leaving Voldemort free to extend his power beyond the Ministry."
"Naturally many people have deduced what has happened: There has been such a dramatic change in Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that Voldemort must be behind it. However, that is the point: They whisper. They daren't confide in each other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted. Yes, Voldemort is playing a very clever game. Declaring himself might have provoked open rebellion: Remaining masked has created confusion, uncertainty, and fear."
"And this dramatic change in Ministry policy," said Harry, "involves warning the Wizarding world against me instead of Voldemort?"
"That's certainly a part of it," said Lupin, "and it is a masterstroke. Now that Dumbledore is dead, you the Boy Who Lived were sure to be the symbol and rallying point for any resistance to Voldemort. But by suggesting that you had a hand in the old hat's death, Voldemort has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have defended you."
"Meanwhile, the Ministry has started moving against Muggle-borns."
Lupin pointed at the Daily Prophet.
"Look at page two."
Hermione turned the pages with much the same expression of distaste she had when handling Secrets of the Darkest Art.
"Muggle-born Register!" she read aloud. "'The Ministry of Magic is undertaking a survey of so-called "Muggle-borns" the better to understand how they came to possess magical secrets.
"'Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven Wizarding ancestry exists, therefore, the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force.
"'The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission.'"
"People won't let this happen," said Ron.
"It is happening, Ron," said Lupin. "Muggle-borns are being rounded up as we speak."
"But how are they supposed to have 'stolen' magic?" said Ron. "It's mental, if you could steal magic there wouldn't be any Squibs, would there?"
"I know," said Lupin. "Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least one close Wizarding relative, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power illegally and must suffer the punishment."
Ron glanced at Hermione, then said, "What if purebloods and half bloods swear a Muggle-born's part of their family? I'll tell everyone Hermione's my cousin "
Hermione covered Ron's hand with hers and squeezed it.
"Thank you, Ron, but I couldn't let you "
"You won't have a choice," said Ron fiercely, gripping her hand back. "I'll teach you my family tree so you can answer questions on it."
Hermione gave a shaky laugh.
"Ron, as we're on the run with Harry Potter, the most wanted person in the country, I don't think it matters. If I was going back to school it would be different."
"Not really." Juliunna said, tapping her chin. There is a pretty advanced potion that will truthfully reveal a person's blood status and family tree. I found it in the restricted section, but it seems a little old and forgotten. If I was in charge of that branch, I'd use that potion." Juliunna said, and Ron's lips twitched. Hermione nodded, with a little well chosen whispered swear words to Jules, and then turned to Remus. "What's Voldemort planning for Hogwarts?" she asked Lupin.
"Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard," he replied. "That was announced yesterday. It's a change, because it was never obligatory before. Of course, nearly every witch and wizard in Britain has been educated at Hogwarts, but their parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they preferred. This way, Voldemort will have the whole Wizarding population under his eye from a young age. And it's also another way of weeding out Muggle-borns, because students must be given Blood Status, meaning that they have proven to the Ministry that they are of Wizard descent before they are allowed to attend."
Harry felt sickened and angry: At this moment, excited eleven-year-olds would be poring over stacks of newly purchased spell-books, unaware that they would never see Hogwarts, perhaps never see their families again either.
"It's... it's..." he muttered, struggling to find words that did justice to the horror of his thoughts, but Lupin said quietly, "I know."
Lupin hesitated.
"I'll understand if you can't confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission."
"He did," Harry replied, "and Ron, Juliunna, and Hermione are in on it and they're coming with me."
"Can you confide in me what the mission is?"
Harry looked into the prematurely lined face, framed in thick but graying hair, and wished that he could return a different answer.
"I can't, Remus, I'm sorry. If Dumbledore didn't tell you I don't think I can."
"I thought you'd say that," said Lupin, looking disappointed. "But I might still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to."
Harry hesitated. It was a very tempting offer, though how they would be able to keep their mission secret from Lupin if he were with them all the time he could not imagine.
Hermione, however, looked puzzled.
"But what about Tonks?" she asked.
"What about her?" said Lupin.
"Well," said Hermione, frowning, "you're married! How does she feel about you going away with us?"
"Tonks will be perfectly safe," said Lupin, "She'll be at her parents' house."
There was something strange in Lupin's tone, it was almost cold. There was also something odd in the idea of Tonks remaining hidden at her parents' house; she was, after all, a member of the Order and, as far as Harry knew, was likely to want to be in the thick of the action.
"Remus," Juliunna said tentatively, "is everything all right... you know... between you and
"Everything is fine, thank you," said Lupin pointedly.
Hermione turned pink. There was another pause, an awkward and embarrassed one, and then Lupin said, with an air of forcing himself to admit something unpleasant, "Tonks is going to have a baby."
"Oh, how wonderful!" squealed Hermione.
"Excellent!" said Ron enthusiastically.
"Congratulations," said Harry.
"Cute." Juliunna shrugged.
Lupin gave an artificial smile that was more like a grimace, then said, "So... do you accept my offer? Will four become five? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. And I must tell you that I believe we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined."
Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry, but Juliunna busied herself with looking at a cricket on the floor. She grimaced deeply.
"Just to be clear," Harry said. "You want to leave Tonks at her parents' house and come away with us?"
"She'll be perfectly safe there, they'll look after her," said Lupin. He spoke with a finality bordering on indifference: "Harry, I'm sure James would have wanted me to stick with you."
"Well," said Harry slowly, "I'm not. I'm pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren't sticking with your own kid, actually."
Lupin's face drained of color. The temperature in the kitchen might have dropped ten degrees. Ron stared around the room as though he had been bidden to memorize it, while Hermione's eyes swiveled backward and forward from Harry to Lupin.
"You don't understand," said Lupin at last.
"Explain, then," said Harry.
Lupin swallowed.
"I-I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better judgment and have regretted it very much every since."
"I see," said Harry, "so you're just going to dump her and the kid and run off with us?"
Lupin sprang to his feet: His chair toppled over backward, and he glared at them so fiercely that Harry saw, for the first time ever, she shadow of the wolf upon his human face.
"Don't you understand what I've done to my wife and my unborn child? I should never have married her, I've made her an outcast!"
Lupin kicked aside the chair he had overturned.
"You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore's protection at Hogwarts! You don't know how most of the Wizarding world sees creatures like me! When they know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me! Don't you see what I've done? Even her own family is disgusted by our marriage, what parents want their only daughter to marry a werewolf? And the child the child "
Lupin actually seized handfuls of his own hair; he looked quite deranged.
"My kind don't usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it how can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!"
"Remus!" whispered Hermione, tears in her eyes. "Don't say that how could any child be ashamed of you?"
"Oh, I don't know, Hermione," said Harry. "I'd be pretty ashamed of him."
Harry did not know where his rage was coming from, but it had propelled him to his feet too. Lupin looked as though Harry had hit him.
"If the new regime thinks Muggle-borns are bad," Harry said, "what will they do to a half-werewolf whose father's in the Order? My father died trying to protect my mother and me, and you reckon he'd tell you to abandon your kid to go on an adventure with us?"
"How-! How dare you?" said Lupin. "This is not about a desire for danger or personal glory how dare you suggest such-!"
"I think you're feeling a bit of a daredevil," Harry said, "You fancy stepping into Sirius's shoes "
"Harry, no!" Hermione begged him, but he continued to glare into Lupin's livid face.
"I'd never have believed this," Harry said. "The man who taught me to fight dementors a coward."
Lupin drew his wand so fast that Harry had barely reached for his own; there was a loud bang and he felt himself flying backward as if punched; as he slammed into the kitchen wall and slid to the floor, he glimpsed the tail of Lupin's cloak disappearing around the door.
"Remus, Remus, come back!" Hermione cried, but Lupin did not respond. A moment later they heard the front door slam.
"Harry!" wailed Hermione. "How could you?"
"It was easy," said Harry. He stood up, he could feel a lump swelling where his head had hit the wall. He was still so full of anger he was shaking.
"Don't look at me like that!" he snapped at Hermione.
"Don't you start on her!" snarled Ron.
"Will you stop being so damn emotional?!" Juliunna snarled at Hermione, and then everyone was standing. Harry and Juliunna were facing Ron and Hermione.
"No, we mustn't fight!" said Hermione, launching herself between them.
"You shouldn't have said that stuff to Lupin," Ron told Harry.
"He said it for a reason." Juliunna snarled.
"He had it coming to him," said Harry, nodding. Broken images were racing each other through his mind: Sirius falling through the veil; Dumbledore suspended, broken, in midair; a flash of green light and his mother's voice, begging for mercy...
"Parents," said Harry, "shouldn't leave their kids unless they've got to."
"Harry " said Hermione, stretching out a consoling hand, but he shrugged it off and walked away, his eyes on the fire Hermione had conjured. Juliunna strode back to her chair and sat down, burying her head in her arms. He had once spoken to Lupin out of that fireplace, seeking reassurance about James, and Lupin had consoled him. Now Lupin's tortured white face seemed to swim in the air before him. He felt a sickening surge of remorse. Neither Ron nor Hermione neither Juliunna spoke, but Harry felt sure that they were looking at each other behind his back, communicating silently.
He turned around and caught them turning hurriedly away form each other.
"I know I shouldn't have called him a coward."
"No, you shouldn't," said Ron at once.
"But he's acting like one."
"All the same..." said Hermione.
"I know," said Harry. "But if it makes him go back to Tonks, it'll be worth it, won't it?"
He could not keep the plea out of his voice. Hermione looked sympathetic, Ron uncertain. Juliunna breathed deeply into her arms out of anger. Harry looked down at his feet, thinking of his father. Would James have backed Harry in what he had said to Lupin, or would he have been angry at how his son had treated his old friend?
The silent kitchen seemed to hum with the shock of the recent scene and with Ron and Hermione's unspoken reproaches. The Daily Prophet Lupin had brought was still lying on the table, Harry's own face staring up at the ceiling from the front page. He walked over to it and sat down, opened the paper at random, and pretended to read. He could not take in the words; his mind was still too full of the encounter with Lupin. He was sure that Ron and Hermione had resumed their silent communications on the other side of the Prophet. He turned a page loudly, and Dumbledore's name leapt out at him. It was a moment or two before he took in the meaning of the photograph, which showed a family group. Beneath the photograph were the words: The Dumbledore family, left to right: Albus; Percival, holding newborn Ariana; Kendra, and Aberforth.
His attention caught, Harry examined the picture more carefully. Dumbledore's father, Percival, was a good-looking man with eyes that seemed to twinkle even in this faded old photograph. The baby, Ariana, was a little longer than a loaf of bread and no more distinctive-looking. The mother, Kendra, had jet black hair pulled into a high bun. Her face had a carved quality about it. Harry thought of photos of Native Americans he'd seen as he studied her dark eyes, high cheekbones, and straight nose, formally composed above a high-necked silk gown. Albus and Aberforth wore matching lacy collared jackets and had identical, shoulder-length hairstyles. Albus looked several years older, but otherwise the two boys looked very alike, for this was before Albus's nose had been broken and before he started wearing glasses.
The family looked quite happy and normal, smiling serenely up out of the newspaper. Baby Ariana's arm waved vaguely out of her shawl. Harry looked above the picture and saw the headline:
EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT FROM UPCOMING
BIOGRAPHY OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
by Rita Skeeter
Thinking it could hardly make him feel any worse than he already did, Harry began to read:
Proud and haughty, Kendra Dumbledore could not bear to remain in Mould-on-the-Wold after her husband Percival's well-publicized arrest and imprisonment in Azkaban. She therefore decided to uproot the family and relocate to Godric's Hollow, the village that was later to gain fame as the scene of Harry Potter's strange escape from You-Know-Who.
Like Mould-on-the-Wold, Godric's Hollow was home to a number of Wizarding families, but as Kendra knew none of them, she would be spared the curiosity about her husband's crime she had faced in her former village. By repeatedly rebuffing the friendly advances of her new Wizarding neighbors, she soon ensured that her family was left well alone.
"Slammed the door in my face when I went around to welcome her with a batch of homemade Cauldron Cakes," says Bathilda Bagshot. "The first year they were there I only ever saw the two boys. Wouldn't have known there was a daughter if I hadn't been picking Plangentines by moonlight the winter after they moved in, and saw Kendra leading Ariana out into the back garden. Walked her round the lawn once, keeping a firm grip on her, then took her back inside. Didn't know what to make of it."
It seems that Kendra thought the move to Godric's Hollow was the perfect opportunity to hide Ariana once and for all, something she had probably been planning for years. The timing was significant. Ariana was barely seven years old when she vanished from sight, and seven is the age by which most experts agree that magic will have revealed itself, if present. Nobody now alive remembers Ariana ever demonstrating even the slightest sign of magical ability. It seems clear, therefore, that Kendra made a decision to hide her daughter's existence rather than suffer the shame of admitting that she had produced a Squib. Moving away from the friends and neighbors who knew Ariana would, of course, make imprisoning her all the easier. The tiny number of people who henceforth knew of Ariana's existence could be counted upon to keep the secret, including her two brothers, who had deflected awkward questions with the answer their mother had taught them. "My sister is too frail for school."
Next week: Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts the Prizes and the Pretense.
Harry had been wrong: What he had read had indeed made him feel worse. He looked back at the photograph of the apparently happy family. Was it true? How could he find out? He wanted to go to Godric's Hollow, even if Bathilda was in no fit state to talk to him: he wanted to visit the place where he and Dumbledore had both lost loved ones. He was in the process of lowering the newspaper, to ask Ron', Juliunna's and Hermione's opinions, when a deafening crack echoed around the kitchen.