50- Wish you were here

They met at a pub in Soho. It was just an ordinary pub, but in those days a lot of extraordinary people met there before they swarmed out to visit the various nightclubs in the neighbourhood. Mostly, these kids were dressed in black.

As was Regulus Black. He had already finished his third beer, washing down the frustration from his job at the ministry when Raven arrived, looking just as miserable as he felt. Immediately, he signalled the barkeep to serve her a drink.

She downed her first, then ordered a second. Quite a while passed in silent companionship and drinking, before she leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. She was feeling lonely and he was a handsome bloke in his Muggle clothes; they always looked so much better on him than robes.

"Raven..." he whispered. Her lips were so close to his and for a moment, everything seemed to be possible. Regulus shook his head, blaming these thoughts on his state of drunkenness. They were both pretty drunk. "We shouldn't-"

"Right." She nodded."Stupid me." Then she fleetingly brushed his lips with hers and sighed again. "Dammit, I miss him so!"

"Still no word from him?"

"Nah, he can't send an owl since the bloody beasts are being intercepted, therefore the Floo is out of question, too. And the next phone box is miles away." She gulped down her beer and slammed the glass on the counter in a subtle hint for the bartender to refill it, which he promptly did . "You know, Reg, someone should develop small portable telephones that you can hide in the pocket of your robes or something like that. It just sucks, missing him. I've never been away from Sev for such a long time. Of course, when we were young we were apart during the summer hols, but that was different."

Regulus nibbled at his lips. A vague idea- or more the notion of an idea- had crossed his mind when she was talking about portable telephones, but it was gone before he could quite put his finger on what it was.

"We didn't have Christmas together, or New Year, and I also missed celebrating his birthday. I don't even know if he's alright."

"Don't worry, Dumbledore wouldn't want to waste his pawn all too soon."

"Now, that's really comforting!" Raven snorted. She knew, however, that Regulus was right. Dumbledore would keep Severus safe as long as he was useful to him. Nevertheless, it was a frustrating situation.

"I'm sorry. Life's a bitch."

"Ah, and what do you know about that, Blackie?"

"Don't call me Blackie."

"'kay, Blackie," she giggled, but her amusement didn't last for long. Soon, she sobered up a little and cast him a curious glance. Following a spontaneous inspiration, she punched a finger into his chest. "Lemme hazard a guess- you're in love with Edie Summers."

"Dear Merlin, no!" Regulus protested. "Definitely not. She's annoying and insufferable..."

Raven tsked at his response." Yeah, that's what Sev always says about me... and I believe him just as much as I believe you, meaning not at all. Of course, there's always Lily- he says he loves her, always and forever and such, but then we end up in bed again and he makes love to me. He doesn't just fuck me."

"Edie does."

"Oooh, Poor ickle Reggiekins- isn't she evil? Well, I think she fancies you."

"She despises me 'cause I'm a posh, spoiled pure-blood in her eyes."

"She doesn't care about the blood or that you're a wizard. Admittedly, she has problems with your high-class upbringing... hm, maybe she'll get over it- but your reaction proves that you're in love with Edie Summers."

"I just told you I'm not," he protested again, sounding more feeble than the last time he did so.

"Don't lie to me, Blackie."

"Don't call me Blackie."

"'kay." Raven lit a cigarette, inhaled and exhaled blueish fumes which she watched disappear in the smoke-filled air of the pub.

"I admit that I might find Edie quite attractive- but I'm not in love with her." He glared at Raven only to realize that it wasn't wise to make eye-contact in any way with someone who could read you like an open book, without using Legilimency in such a brutal, mind-raping way as the Dark Lord did. Her way was more subtle, more intuitive... and irritatingly more successful. He tried to squirm free of her inquisitive glance by evading it, tried to talk himself out of a situation he himself hadn't even quite grasped yet. Edie Summers was a troublemaker, a pain in the arse... she'd be the death of his mother if she ever found out he was even remotely interested in a Muggle girl. It wouldn't work. Never. There weren't only worlds between them but whole galaxies...

"She'll realize you're a fine guy despite your upbringing- I told her you are."

"You did?" Regulus asked puzzled. Sometimes, it still surprised him that they were friends. Of course, he trusted her, probably trusted her more than anyone else. Because she was so very different. Without her and the chance she'd given him, he'd be long dead. Dead and forgotten. He would have died a painful death in that cave by the sea, wasting his life away... if he hadn't run to her and Severus, carrying a dying Kreacher in his arms. Sometimes, he thought he was only a nuisance to her

"Yeah, we're two lonely... lost souls... swimming in a fish bowl..."

"Fish bowl? What's fish got to do with it?"

Raven chuckled. "I will forgive your ignorance since you discovered the joys of Muggle music only recently. I was referring to a song, Wish you were here by Pink Floyd."

"Ah." Regulus fell silent for a moment before he finally dared to voice the question that was on his mind. "What did she say?"

"Who? Oh, you mean Edie You're-not-in-love-with Summers? Well, she said ye've got a nice bum. And she's right with that. But don't worry, mate, I think she'll come to like the rest of you too."

Regulus rolled his eyes. It wasn't the answer he had feared, but it wasn't the one he had hoped for either. No one wanted to hear that his bum was the only positive attribute about him- and probably Edie liked it only because she had tattooed it with a portrait of Kreacher...

However, it didn't matter. It wouldn't work between them, anyway. Because of the galaxies.

If only he'd be a simply bloke from a normal family! Life would be so much easier. Sometimes, he wished he'd be more of a rebel, more like Sirius (at least in that aspect). But he lacked the selfishness, or perhaps the bravery, to alienate his mother so. On the other hand, he didn't want her to look at him as though he was the family's most precious stud horse either. All he ever wanted was to live his own life, make his own decisions- was that really too much to ask for?

"No, it's not." Raven replied quietly, and Regulus realized he much have thought too loud. At least for a skilled Legilimencer... or for someone who could simply figure him out much too well.

"I think it's about time we live our own life, make our own decisions and continue to fight our own battle."

Regulus knew immediately what she was driving at, and he wished he hadn't drunk that much. Or she hadn't. "You still believe we can fight the Dark Lord?"

"Aye," She simply said, but her tone was so serious he was almost prone to believe her. After all, she seemed to have sobered up... although she now ordered another drink and lit another cigarette. Then she ran her fingers through her unruly mess of red-purplish-pink hair. "Yeah, I know, the only one Lord V ever feared is Dumbledore... blah, blah, blah- but we know of his weakness; we already destroyed two of his Horcruxes."

It was true, Regulus pondered. And yet he dismissed her idea as absurd, considering it as wishful thinking of a hopeless idealist, because he didn't believe someone like Raven could outwit the Dark Lord. No one could. He knew what the Dark Lord was capable of, and that wasn't something one should take lightly... or dream up a better future without him in a drunken state of mind.

On the other hand, she didn't seem to be that drunk. She knew what she was talking about, and her arguments made sense. They had already destroyed two of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes. And HE didn't even seem to know about it.

Regulus sighed. Perhaps, she was right. Perhaps, her idea was not quite as hopelessly idealistic as it seemed, and perhaps, there might be a future for him. A better future... and perhaps, Edie will come to love me...

He realized that he was sounding just as foolish as Severus, and so he gave himself a good mind-shake before he glanced at Raven again. "Alright, so what's your plan?"

She shrugged.

"I don't have any," Raven said as she downed her glass of beer and set it loudly on the counter. "I mean, I don't have a concrete plan- in the meantime, why don't we just rock on tonight and worry about the details tomorrow?"

-o-

Meanwhile, at Hogwarts, Severus ran frustrated fingers through his lanky hair, annoyed about the incompetence of his students to write reasonable essays, using the correct grammar and punctuation of the English language. It couldn't be that hard! After all, he stemmed from a poor, working class family and yet he had managed to leave all that behind and he'd learned to use his own language decently. Marking mistakes with a quill dripping angry red ink, he wished that that would be his only problem.

But it wasn't. The students made his life a misery; they were stubborn, disobedient and always oh-so-fucking-eager to remind him of his own Hogwarts days, when he was the nerd, the lonely geek, the loser... the older ones still remembered that unfortunate day by the lake, of him dangling upside down in the air, revealing his greying underpants- and, in the end, screwing things up with Lily. These little dunderheads were a constant reminder of what he'd fucked up.

It was only partly supportive, knowing he wasn't a victim anymore. Now, he was a Master of Potions, and Dumbledore had hired him to teach those insolent brats the subtle arts of his profession- it was something he had to remind himself of every minute of the day. He had to fight the disobedience, the disrespectful ways of his students by pointing out who was their superior. He was in charge now, and best of all, he could take points and give detentions, and he didn't hesitate to use these means generously.

Soon, he had made himself a reputation for being Hogwarts' most feared teacher. Mind, he hadn't aimed for that- but Potions was a dangerous subject for the imbeciles, and he was simply setting up some rules to ensure their safety. So, let them tell Dumbledore he was a mean guy- the Headmaster trusted him as much and as far as he could ever hex a Slytherin, and in between he preferred to use him like a precious pawn.

Severus wasn't a fool; he knew he was only valuable as long as he came up with information considering the Dark Lord. There was no trust in their agreement.

He put on his earphones, chose a cassette and turned the volume up pretty loud to forget all that for a moment, thinking of Raven while listening to a song she had tape-recorded for him. Severus relaxed. Then he picked up his quill and started marking essays with newly found energy and even more determined red ink, wondering why she always seemed to know so precisely what it was that he needed, wondering why she had recorded especially these songs for him. Why did she always seem to know what was necessary to reflect the state of his mind?

Anyway, thinking of Raven made him smile, and for an instant he allowed himself to remember her almost longingly. He also recalled how inspiring, encouraging- and often annoying- her individuality was to him, during their Hogwarts days. If he weren't in love with Lily, he could have fallen in love with her. Easily. Because she had walked into his life on her very own ray of sunshine, so very full of light and promises... and yet he couldn't forget Lily. Or could he?

But that question wasn't on his agenda. It was a fickle and therefore useless train of thought anyway- or, at least, he had declared it as such the very day he had started his job at Hogwarts. As a professor for Potions... and a spy.

There was no room for love in his job description.

-o-

A couple of days later, Raven arrived at the doorstep of Number12, Grimmauld Place, looking like the perfect little pure-blood witch. She knocked the door, still thinking she could fool everyone with her disguise. But then Kreacher answered the door and seemed to recognize her immediately.

"Ah, Mistress Scum," he said in his unpleasant bullfrog voice. "Please follow Kreacher, Master Regulus is already expecting Your Annoyance."

"Thanks, you little pest. It's always a pleasure to meet you-"

"Shhhhhh," the ugly little house elf turned to hush her. "Not so loud, Mistress Scum. She will notice- oh dear, oh dear."

Kreacher fell silent, and the very same moment Raven heard footsteps approaching. She followed the house-elf's glance to a staircase leading to upstairs floors; it was decorated with shrunken elf heads.

Although Kreacher was the most unpleasant house-elf she'd ever met, she felt sorry for him all of a sudden, wondering if he was to end like that, too, when he was dead- killed?- knowing that the parade of his predecessors was not to keep them in loving memory, but a constant reminder for all the Black's house-elves to never even think of disobedience or disloyalty. And considering that, Kreacher had already gone much too far...

A witch dressed in black came walking down the staircase, looking just like... Morticia from the Addams Family. Raven had to blink twice to make sure her eyes weren't fooling her.

"Kreacher! Who came knocking?" Morticia demanded as she descended the stairs in an almost majestically way- but, of course, she wasn't Morticia, and the Addams Family was just a cartoon, originally published in The New Yorker, whereas this was reality.

A few steps more and Raven was face to face with Walburga Black, Regulus' mother. She was beautiful- or, at least, she looked beautiful at first glance. The beauty of the Blacks. But Raven also noticed the signs of madness that shone in her eyes, and she remembered Reg's warning to be vigilant.

So she curtseyed politely before she introduced herself. "Good day, Mrs Black. Pleased to meet you Ma'am. I'm Raven Lestrange, and I'm here... um, to meet your son."

"Lestrange?" Walburga Black scrutinized Raven from head to toe. Like a predator. Fortunately, she failed to uncover Raven's glamour- or, perhaps, she didn't even want to, blinded by her irreproachable pure-blood name. If only she knew... "Are you possibly related to my dear Radcliffe Lestrange?"

"Only distantly." Raven was just about to spin a tale about her imaginary great-great-grand uncle Hieronymus, who left wizarding Britain in 1812 to take a Grand Tour of the world and probably ended on a remote island in the South Seas where he lived happily ever after with a banana-leaf-clad native witch- when Regulus arrived at the scene.

"Mother! That's enough." He reproached her, and to Raven's surprise Mrs Black seemed to shrink a little at her son's chiding. Not as much as the shrunken house-elf heads but nevertheless recognizable. In the good old traditional ways of the pure-bloods, a wizard was still higher in hierarchy than a witch and therefore Reg had not only inherited his father's money but also his title; he was now the patriarch of the family.

It was amusing since he didn't give a damn about that.

"As you please, my dear. Would you like me to order the elves to bring some refreshment for your... guest?" Mrs Black asked politely, smiling at Raven.

It was a shrewd smile, one that made Raven feel uncomfortable. Especially since she knew that the older witch was very keen on having grandchildren, the sooner the better and preferably sons- would it be rude to point out that she wasn't here to... breed and give birth to a new generation of Blacks?

But before she could say anything, Regulus opened a door and ushered Raven into a room, out of sight of Walburga Black. "Thank you, mother. Please tell Kreacher to bring us some tea."

Then he closed the door, staring at Raven while Raven was staring in awe at the rows of bookshelves that lined the room from floor to ceiling.

"Wow," she gasped impressed. The air was a little stale and smelled of old paper and leather, of forbidden or at least not Ministry-approved knowledge. It was a tantalizing smell, one that inspired her curiosity in spite of the shadows that were lurking in the corners. Some of the books seemed to radiate something...evil (in loss for a better word). The evil of ancient magic and the Dark Arts, as if reading and studying those books had manifested the darkness in the shadows.

"Sorry 'bout my mother, she's a real pain in the neck," Reg said, still staring at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Puzzled, he started babbling, "I told her I would receive a friend today and that we'd do some research in wizarding heraldry- I knew she'd like that since she's constantly complaining about my lack of interest in the well-being and continuance of the very Noble and Ancient House of Black. I just didn't expect her to look at you as if you were a possible candidate to feed her dreams of becoming a grandmother soon; I thought you'd underline my state as the family's new troublemaker and- what the fuck happened to your hair?"

But before he could finish saying 'hair', it seemed to change and he had to blink twice to make sure his eyes weren't fooling him. Her long tresses of black hair took on her usual purplish-red-pink shades, completed with a messy Mohawk style.

"Oh, it's just a little glamour," she explained nonchalantly, "just enough to fool your mother, but apparently not enough to fool dear Kreacher."

"Yeah, house-elves seem to have a different kind of perception. They can easily see through our disguise," he answered almost automatically, flabbergasted.

"Clever little beasties."

"They are for sure." Then he coughed. "Blimey! You also fooled me! And I thought I'd know you! I'm impressed, though."

Raven shrugged."It's not that impressive, really. I... um, came to adopt that little trick when I was still quite young and trying to become unnoticeable- thanks to your darling brother and his infernal sidekick, the ever-so-wonderful James Potter."

"I'm sorry." Regulus gave here a warm, sympathetic smile and tried to not feel responsible for his brother's doings. "I know they gave you a hard time at Hogwarts, but at least it was good for something: you developed a rare gift and it comes quite handy now, doesn't it? After all, we live in times where being unobtrusive and unnoticeable is not an option but a necessity."

It was flattering and encouraging, knowing he appreciated her skills. But she wasn't here to take credit for her little tricks. She was in an impressive library filled with tons of books, tons of knowledge only waiting for her to discover. Changing the subject, she said casually, "Ta! Now that we've discussed that, we can go back to more relevant things, aye? And if I remember correctly, we wanted to find out more about the Dark Lord and his Horcruxes."

"Right."

They had arranged the meeting at Grimmauld Place some days ago, following their night out in Soho. Even after several rounds of beer Regulus was impressed by her insistence that they could really fight the Dark Lord and win, if only they knew more about him. For instance, knowing all about his Horcruxes. Two were already eliminated, but there had to be more, one more at least. All good things come in threes, as the saying goes. Or perhaps there were even seven, for seven was a magical number and Raven assumed that Lord V was very keen on all the traditional wizarding hocus-pocus. Like caring about numbers and stuff like that. So perhaps following that trail would give an idea about his Horcruxes.

Due to her profound research some years ago, Raven knew that the Dark Lord was the heir of Slytherin, a descendant of the Gaunt family and likely the son on Merope Gaunt, sired by a man by the name of Tom Riddle, a Muggle. However, in the Almanac of Wizarding Genealogy no one by that name ever appeared and the line of the Gaunts ended with the death of Morfin Gaunt, back in the 1940's; he died in Azkaban. It was still a mystery to Raven why none of Lord V's pure-blood followers had ever questioned his background, given that every pure-blood family treasured their Almanac and knew of their family trees. But Tommy-boy could call himself Lord Voldemort and claim he was the heir of Slytherin ,and nobody ever wondered where the hell he came from. Even in the Black's well-sorted library there was no trace of him until he suddenly appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, like a rising star.

Frustrated, she started leafing through her copy of Hogwarts, A History as if she could find answers there- which was unlikely since there didn't seem to be any in the huge library of the Blacks. They had spent hours already, consulting book after book that Kreacher had assiduously sought at command and carried to his Master Regulus, staying in the library after having served them tea.

"Phew," Raven sighed, running fingers through her hair, "perhaps we have to find out where the Gaunts lived and start looking-"

"Wait! Stop!" Regulus called out. He had been glancing over her shoulder as she leafed trough the pages of Hogwarts, A History, when all of a sudden one picture caught his interest. "Turn back the page!"

"That's Helga Hufflepuff." Raven said as she did so, sounding slightly bored.

"Yeah, I know. But look at what she's holding in her hands."

"A golden cup, a goblet or a chalice, or something like that."

"I knew I've seen it before!" Regulus exclaimed.

"Sure. We all got the same copy of Hogwarts, A History when we started there and you should have read it."

"Smart ass! That's not the point. I mean, I saw the the real thing."

Raven arched a brow at him. "Did you really? After all, it's said that Helga's cup disappeared some years ago, following the murder of Hepzibah Smith; a crime for which her house-elf was convicted."

"Hokey was no murderer," Kreacher chimed in as demurely as his deep bullfrog voice allowed.

She reached out to pat his almost bald head, but he pulled a face as if her touch was disgusting.

Meanwhile, Regulus scratched his chin and said, "I know the story. Nevertheless, I know what I saw... the two finely wrought handles can't be mistaken and there was something engraved that might be a badger. Raven!" Now he sounded excited. "I am sure that the golden cup Voldemort gave to Bellatrix was Helga Hufflepuff's cup, and that it is another Horcrux."

She remembered he had mentioned the cup before and agreed that the mentioned object was probably a Horcrux. But if it was really Helga Hufflepuff's cup- well, that would catapult their hunt for Horcruxes into a new dimension, because it couldn't be a coincidence that two of Lord V's Horcruxes were artefacts of the founders of Hogwarts.

"We have to find it and destroy it," she concluded.

Regulus, however, shook his head no. "Not that one, I fear."

"Why not?"

"You don't know my cousin Bellatrix, but I do. And believe me, you don't want to be on bad terms with Bella. She's mad. Not mad like my mother, pestering you with her desire to be the grandmother of a new generation of Blacks. No, I mean really mad. Dangerously mad with the emphasis on dangerous. She loves to torture and she kills easily; I thought her cool when I was a child but now I'm scared of her, and I'm her favourite cousin."

Although Raven was keen on destroying another Horcrux, she was nevertheless wise enough to understand a fair warning when she heard one, and that one was unmistakably clear. Don't mess with Bellatrix Lestrange.

Regulus noticed her disappointment and suggested, "Hey, but your idea to visit the place where the Gaunts lived was good. Let's check this!"

-o-

The house was situated on a hill, overlooking the village of Little Hangleton; it was by far the biggest building around and from afar it looked quite impressive. But it you got closer, you could see that it was derelict. Tiles were missing from the roof and many of its windows were boarded. Ivy was spreading over the walls. It seemed as if the nearby woods were trying to reclaim what was once theirs.

Raven stopped her motorbike in front of the gate and said dryly, "Daddy doesn't live here anymore."

"Hmpf," grunted Regulus from the buddy seat, still slightly huffish since Raven had not once allowed him to ride the bike on their way to Little Hangleton. Instead, she had merely scowled and shown him his place. The buddy seat.

It hadn't been hard to find the town where the Gaunts lived. But instead of Apparating there, Raven had suggested they took a ride on her bike. So far so good. And while they were doing things the Muggle way, they had decided to inspect Lord V's paternal background as well. Alas, it seemed as if many years had passed since the Riddle family lived there.

"Well, let's go and check the Gaunts' house. It must be close-by. If Merope really fell for that Riddle guy, she's likely seen him often."

"I see you don't believe in love at first sight!" Raven teased him as she started the engine again and turned the bike, riding back to the village.

"What are you up to now?"

"I think it's time for a nice Sunday beer in that pub we saw," she replied casually.

Of course she wasn't just thirsty, and he didn't mind a good glass of Muggle beer either, but it bugged him tremendously that she was always playing her cards so close to the vest. They were friends and yet she treated him like a whelp, even if she wasn't that much older.

On the other hand, she seemed to know people better. Especially Muggles. It was something he found out when they entered the pub. A wrought-iron plate above the door was swaying in the gentle spring breeze, making screeching sounds as it showed a man swinging at the gallows. Needless to mention that the pub was called the Hanged Man.

"Alright, listen," she deigned to give him a last minute instruction, showing quite clearly who was in command of their Sunday trip to Little Hangleton. Raven had a plan and she was filling him in. "We're location scouts for the BBC, looking for interesting stories about... um, the tragedy of good old English families, formerly of nobility and wealth, that lost everything and are impoverished, dead or almost forgotten now."

Regulus thought that lie would blast as soon as they started feeding it to the people of the village since they were eyeing them with suspicion anyway. But quite the contrary happened. Was Raven using a Confundus Charm on them? Although their first reaction was reservation towards strangers, they soon started to warm up and told them about the tragedy. Apparently, it had happened quite a while ago, some decades even, but it was still on the minds of the people.

"The Riddles were rich and snobby."

"Unpopular."

"Aye."

"They were murdered, you know."

"The police said they just died, as simple as that. But I tell you it was murder."

"What happened?" Raven asked, trying not to sound too curious although that sounded mightily interesting.

"Meg found them. Megan Higgins was their maid back them. She walked into the house like every morning and found them all dead. Mister Riddle, Missus Riddle, and their son, Tom. All dead. Murdered, if you ask me. People just don't drop dead all of a sudden."

"Yet the police said they all died a natural death. Heart failure or something like that."

"Of course we never believed that. I always suspected Frank."

"Who's Frank?" Raven interjected.

"Frank Bryce, the Riddle's gardener. The police grilled him for hours but he refused to confess and then the medical examiners said there's no sign of violence and they let him go."

"And what happened to Frank?"

"He's still doing the garden over at Riddle Mansion. Keeps to himself most of the time. He doesn't like crowds, he always says. And the crowd here doesn't like him. We still think he's responsible for what happened to the Riddles, though we don't mourn them."

"Aye. And we never believed his story 'bout that teenage boy he claims to have seen."

Raven exchanged glances with Regulus, a wry smile curling up her lips. It seemed to tell him that they were done at the Hanged Man, that it was time to say goodbye to the people of Little Hangleton and have a chat with the reclusive Frank Bryce instead.

-o-

Frank Bryce wasn't interested in talking to strangers. Unlike the village people, he wasn't even keen on the prospect of seeing his own face on television. Actually, he abhorred that idea. All he wanted to do was to live in peace and take care of his garden, just like he did since he came back home from war. True, doing his job wasn't as easy as it used to be. The years had taken its toll on him and his stiff leg hurt with every change of the weather.

Therefore, he gave the strangers a surreptitious glance and turned his back on them, thinking that nothing good could come from two youngsters on a motorbike. But then the girl with the weird coloured hair said something that made him change his mind.

Thirty-eight years. Thirty-eight years had passed and no-one had ever bothered to ask. The people in the village of Little Hangleton, the police back then... he had told them, but they had chosen to ignore this lead and focussed on him instead. Until it became obvious that he could be ruled out because the Riddles weren't victims of an assault; they hadn't been killed. They just died...

And now that girl- was she a punk? Or were all those people from the media looking like freaks nowadays?- well she finally asked the question that should have been asked thirty-eight years ago.

-o-

"Please, Mr Bryce, we have information that you saw a teenage boy the night the Riddles died. Could you tell us more about him?"

Bryce's eyes seemed to light up and Raven knew she had almost won. Then he smiled. Or, to be more precise, the corners of his mouth twitched into something that vaguely resembled a smile, albeit it was thin and slightly wolfish. As if he didn't want to show his satisfaction and was trying to hide it instead.

"Where did you hear that?"

"Well, the people in the Hanged Man sort of mentioned it."

He snorted contemptuously, but that didn't discourage Raven who could handle sneers better than most people; after all, she was friends with Severus Snape and he was the Master of Sneers. She had learned to deal with that from the moment on when she had decided to befriend Severus, and so she flashed Bryce an encouraging smile.

"I think that sounds like an interesting lead, Mr Bryce. I wonder why the police never followed it."

"It was easier to suspect me!" He barked, years of frustration obvious in his voice. "I fought for my country, I got crippled for my country. I never expected any reward or shiny medal- it would have been an honour to die for my county, for my king. But nothing of that ever mattered when the Riddles were murdered or just died. They needed a suspect and the suspect was me. They thought I merely came up with the story about that teenage boy to avert suspicion, but that's not true. I saw him! He was there. It's not my bloody fault that no-one else saw him. He was there. He was real-"

"I believe you, Mr Bryce," Raven said calmly, almost soothingly, before she inquired, "now, do you perhaps remember anything specific about that teenage boy?"

"Aye, I can still see him in my mind's eye, as if it was yesterday. He was probably seventeen or eighteen. Dark-haired, pale-faced. And, if I remember correctly, he was strangely dressed for a young man of his age, at those times."

"Could you specify that?"

"Well, I don't know much about fashion, you know, but it was in the early forties and we were still at war with the Krauts, and fabric was rare and expensive. That youngster, however, was wrapped in some sort of... billowing robe- if you know what I mean. Lots of expensive fabric. That's why I first thought he was some noble relative of the Riddles, all posh and arrogant, you know. But he behaved kind of fishy. Like hiding in the shadows, not aiming for the drive to Riddle Mansion, lurking around... as if he was waiting for something, or simply for the night to fall.

"I thought he was none of my business. If the Riddles hadn't wanted to receive any late-night callers, they would have told me. So I thought nothing 'bout it until they were all dead, and then no-one cared to hear my story."

"What an unbelievable ignorance," Raven agreed with him, trying to make it sound just as indignant as he was feeling while she rummaged through her bag to produce a picture of young Tom Riddle, taken from the yearbook when he was Prefect, Head Boy and Keeper of the Medal for Magical Merit. "Mr Bryce, would you please take a look at this photograph and tell me if this is the boy you saw that night?"

"Blimey!" Old Frank Bryce spluttered, "That's him! Who's he?" And after thoughtfully scratching his head, ruffling his thin, grey hair he added. "My, he pretty much looks like Tom Riddle junior, doesn't he? But Tom junior was never married, so that can't be- can it?"

-o-

"Well, as it seems, Tommy boy- better known as Lord V- killed his daddy and his paternal grandparents when he was still a teenager," Raven summed up after they had left Frank Bryce and were making their way along a partly hidden path that led uphill through the woods, "and probably he created a Horcrux after that splendid deed. So young and so much criminal energy-"

She fell silent when she reached the not so noble but very ancient house of Gaunt; it was a shabby, derelict hut. Then she recalled the pictures of Marvolo, Morfin and Merope Gaunt, and decided that she shouldn't have expected more.

"My, what a waste," she sighed, glancing at Regulus. "he should have accepted his Muggle heritage and demanded his legal succession- after all, he was Riddle's son. No matter if illegitimate or not, but I guess the mansion is worth much more than this."

"True," Regulus agreed. "At least we know now that the Dark Lord is not interested in mundane goods, such as wealth."

"Ah, what a relief:"

"That doesn't mean, however, that he wouldn't accept a generous, heartfelt donation for his course," he quipped before he asked, "Do you really think he created his first Horcrux here?"

"It's likely, isn't it? Though I think it wasn't his first. His first was probably the diary, after murdering Myrtle. Nevertheless- yeah, I believe he found something is this hovel that seemed to be special or worthy enough to turn into a Horcrux, after he killed his Muggle relatives..." She fell silent for a moment, "by the way, he must have managed to frame Morfin, because Morfin was accused of the murder and sent to Azkaban, where he died."

"I remember the story. Father told me. Morfin confessed, and the Aurors found out that it was his wand indeed that killed the Muggles."

"But isn't it absurd? I mean, two different police squads investigated the crime, and they both came up with different suspects of which one was sentenced to life imprisonment although he was innocent and the other was just lucky, and all the while the real delinquent was free to commit more crimes."

Regulus just shrugged.

"I think it's damned ineffective, if not to say counter-productive, that both the Muggle police and the Aurors investigate a crime and come up with different suspects. Old Frank Bryce was lucky that he didn't get sentenced for a crime he hadn't committed."

"You worry about old Frank Bryce?"

"No, I worry about the day both the Muggle police and the Aurors arrest two different persons for the same crime and sentence them although they've done nothing wrong, while the real delinquent goes free, only because the authorities of our worlds won't work together."

"Well, there's the Statute of Secrecy to be considered," Regulus reminded her. "You can't just go and tell every common Muggle police guy about our world."

"True," Raven sighed, but she didn't sound convinced. "Nevertheless, there should be some sort of Special Force, interacting between the two worlds."

Since Regulus failed to see that happen any time soon, if ever, he tried to forward their reason for visiting this ramshackle hut on such a nice, sunny spring day by pushing open the front door of the shack (it gave in with a loud creak) and he was just about to enter, when Raven stopped him with a sharp pull at his arm.

"Wait! Not so hasty!"

He turned to glance at her.

"You're going to ruin it all if you rush in like a fool. We have to do it thoroughly, you know."

"Do what?" There didn't seem much to do in an almost empty, dust-covered room, filled only with shadows.

Rolling her eyes, Raven proceeded her wand and mumbled an incantation that made the air in the room appear somewhat lighter, or just brighter, and suddenly all the outlines became more precise.

Now he realized his mistake. Regulus followed her glance and noticed some patches in the dust on the floor. Footprints. Apparently some very old footprints, for they were hardly visible before Raven had cast that charm, and he would most likely have destroyed them, had he rushed into the room like the fool she accused him to be. He arched a surprised brow at her- perhaps he should have considered to cast a Revelio, too.

On the other hand, she seemed to know quite well what she was doing, and that shouldn't come as a surprise to him for he knew she kept on studying her books on Auror training even though Auror headquarters (or the Ministry) still refused to accept her. And that was a shame, since she definitely had a knack for investigation.

"Alright, you lead the way."

She didn't move, though. Instead, she merely stood rooted at the door, looking into the room, frowning. Then she performed another gesture with her wand and the crease between her eyes deepened.

"You alright?"

Why did she hesitate? Aurors weren't known to be hesitant- but they weren't known to be very accurate and thoughtful either, and nowadays, they seemed to rely on their right to use Unforgivables more than on precise investigation work. Raven, however, was not like that. She focussed on her skills, her instincts... and somehow, she acted more like a Muggle investigator...

Perhaps that was why it took a while for her to respond.

"Don't you... feel... it?"

"Feel what?"

"Evil. Sorry 'bout the lack of a better word for it- a feeling of malevolence, of the Dark Arts. And I mean really Dark Arts, not just not-Ministry-approved-magic."

Regulus didn't feel anything, but he excused that with his growing-up in the permanent surrounding of not-Ministry-approved-magic. "Well, the Gaunts were surely not averse to the Dark Arts. After all, they were descendants of Salazar Slytherin- and, as far as I know- Morfin and Marvolo were both Parselmouths, like Salazar himself-"

"There!" Ignoring his comment, she pointed to a window sill at the far end of the room. "It's coming from there."

There was nothing special to be seen; there was just a window, blinded by the dust of times. And still, Regulus didn't feel or sense anything specific, let alone anything dark or evil.

"I can't even describe it properly, that feeling..." Raven shrugged, lost in thoughts and looking for words. "It feels... strange, uneasy... as if something bad and horrible is going to happen soon, only that it has happened already and the ghost of it is still lingering in the air, and the air has a slightly sulphuric taste- it's not even a stench, and of course you can't really smell the Dark Arts or evil per se, but the atmosphere in this room reminds me of the day Marc died."

"Marc?"

"Marc Bolan. . Apparently- meaning according to the Muggle police- he died in a car crash. But I was there, afterwards. And I know that it wasn't just an accident. He got killed by the Dark Arts."

"Why would the Dark Lord kill a Muggle rock star?"

"Simply because he was a Muggle? Anyway, I didn't say Lord V killed him. I just think that he was killed by the Dark Arts- too bad that there's still no scientific way to prove someone died of the Killing Curse." She briefly considered a career in forensic medicine to solve that problem, then she quickly dismissed the idea. "It was the same strange feeling of... foreboding. Of something that slowly suffocates you... actually, it almost felt like carrying that damned locket."

Now, Regulus understood, and all of a sudden, he thought he could feel it, too. It was an uneasy feeling that gave him the creeps and made his hair stand on ends, reminding him of the first time he had come close to a Horcrux, still recalling its urgent, tempting whisper.And that very same whisper was back, calling him, but it didn't have a sulphuric smell. It was just a whisper, begging him to move closer to the window, so he followed the footprints on the floor leading exactly that way.

Raven was close on his heels as she, too, made her way to the window, looking over his shoulder, and she was there just in time to stop him from picking up an object lying in the windowsill; it was a golden ring with a black stone.

"Don't touch it!"

"It's a Horcrux, isn't it?"

"Aye. I think so. At least it feels like a Horcrux..."

Regulus agreed, his hand still frozen in mid-air above the ring, "I guess you're right. But shouldn't we take it, then, in order to destroy it?"

"No- I mean, yes, we should destroy it. But since we don't have the appropriate tool to destroy it here and now, we'd better leave it where it is. After all, it cannot run away. And I'd prefer to not be burdened with its weight- ask Frodo."

He decided to not ask Frodo for he didn't even know who the hell he was, but he was certain that she was once again referring to someone of the Muggle culture he didn't know anyway. And yet, she was right with one thing, and that was that he didn't want to burden himself with the weight of a Horcrux, either. It was an experience he simply didn't want to repeat- he'd done it before and the memory still gave him the creeps- and he understood perfectly well why she didn't want to go through that hell again, once more.

Nevertheless, they'd come here with the intention to find and destroy another one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, therefore they shouldn't leave this place without doing anything. But what could they do? He repeated that question aloud, still staring at the ring. Actually, it was kind of an ugly thing, a chunk of gold crafted rather clumsily, showing the rudimentary skills of the person who created it. On the other hand, the black stone was carved with much more precision and in a decidedly more experienced way, showing a sign he identified as the Peverell's coat of arms. It didn't surprise him, though, for he knew that the Gaunts and the Peverells were related.

Well, all of the pure-blood families were related somehow...

Nonetheless, they had to do something. They had to come up with a plan, at least, so their visit to Little Hangleton wouldn't be completely in vain.

"Let's agree that we both don't want to burden ourself with another Horcrux. That's perfectly okay with me- but how do we proceed from here? Any idea?"

Raven shook her head no before she replied, "I so wish Sev was here. He'd know what to do. Or, at least, he'd have the right tool- Merlin, I so want his silver dagger dipped in Basilisk venom! Alas, I can't even contact him. He's at Hogwarts, out of reach-"

"Hm, not quite," Regulus gave to consider. "Of course you cannot contact him while he is at Hogwarts, but you could try to meet him in Hogsmeade, while he is on surveillance duty out there, surrounded by hordes of hormone-driven teenagers. Just think about it, dear Raven... I'd say he couldn't be more pleased to meet you..."

Thanks to my wonderful beta, hypnotic ink, and thanks to all my loyal readers and reviewers who haven't given up on this story. Your feedback is always very inspiring. I just wished I had more time to write.