Ron did not get a chance to ask Malfoy about what had happened in Hogsmeade until two days later, on Tuesday night.
He'd had to claim he could still smell broom polish after Quidditch as an excuse to have a second shower when they returned to Gryffindor tower; Harry went off to meet the others in the Room, and, as Ron had hoped, Malfoy must have made his own excuses to Harry and Hermione, because he walked in about ten minutes later.
Ron sat up on his four-poster and grimaced at the look of profound relief on Malfoy's face; between Eihwaz, Quidditch practice, and Umbridge, it was almost impossible for the two of them to get time alone.
Malfoy's eyes flicked to the bathroom door; through it, Seamus—singing heartily over the noise of the shower—was clearly audible.
"Fancy a walk and a chat?" Ron asked.
"Please," Malfoy said fervently. "If we'd not been able to talk tonight, I was going to land us both in detention tomorrow—"
"Yeah, no thanks," Ron said. He stood. "I have the Map, so—"
"They can't find us," Malfoy finished. "Good. Where do we want to go?"
They wound up in a secret passage on the first floor, sitting on the ground facing each other with their backs pressed against the stone walls. Ron conjured a flighting ball of light for them to see by, and set the Map down so they could keep an eye on it. Malfoy saw to several layers of silencing and privacy charms, and it was only once they were in place that Ron spoke:
"Shall we start with my problem?" he asked. Malfoy looked incredulous, then curious, then resigned.
"Fine," he said, waving a hand. Ron pulled an envelope from his pocket and passed it over.
"Letter from Percy," he said. "Arrived last night. Apparently the latest topic of conversation in Fudge's office is a secret group at Hogwarts. Umbridge got wind of it from your dad, apparently, in Hogsmeade." Malfoy winced.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but it would be nice if the original Prefect Weasley—" His eyes flicked pointedly to the badge on Ron's jumper. "—was a little less good at eavesdropping or a little less forthcoming with information." Malfoy ran his hands over his face. "What did the others say?"
"Nothing yet, because I haven't told them about it," Ron said. Malfoy looked surprised. "I was half thinking we could just pretend we never got it. Blame Umbridge, say she's intercepting things—"
"Which only works at keeping the information private until he asks one of the others about it separately, or mentions it in another letter, or chats about it at Headquarters and Black or someone brings it up with Potter—"
"I know," Ron said. "It's a problem." One that would backfire on them both if they weren't careful, and badly. Ron hadn't factored Percy and what he might overhear in when he and Malfoy were discussing how the Hogsmeade meeting might play out. "But let's hear yours now—I'm pretty sure they're the same problem."
"Surprise, surprise," Malfoy muttered, but launched into his account of his Hogsmeade meeting with his dad.
"That's— yeah," Ron said, when he'd finished. "Right. So Voldemort wants Harry ruined alongside Eihwaz, and your dad wants you to help Umbridge do it, but you don't want to help her, obviously, and you can't do anything that's going to give all this—" He waved in Malfoy's general direction. "—away." He let out a gusty breath, thinking, then glanced at Malfoy. "What do you want to do?"
"Hear what you think, for starters," Malfoy said wryly.
"I think…" Ron shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think it sounds like a nightmare, honestly."
"That's reassuring, Weasley, thank you," Malfoy said, kicking him. Ron smiled, but couldn't hold it for long. "I don't see any way to get out of doing what they want," he continued. "I've managed to buy a bit of time with Umbridge by saying I'm looking for a loophole in the contract I'm supposedly bound by, but that won't last long… There are loopholes. I've thought of three already and if I don't put one forward it's only a matter of time before she finds one herself and I'm in trouble with Father for being uncooperative." He looked miserably at Ron. "But if I give her Eihwaz I'm giving her Potter… He'll be expelled on the spot."
"And some of the rest of us with him, likely as not," Ron muttered.
"Not me," Malfoy said, tone distinctly bitter.
"Do they know it's Harry behind it?" Ron asked. "Maybe I could take the fall for it, say it was my idea and Harry's involved but not in charge—"
"And then you're expelled, I've failed the Dark Lord, and Umbridge is still after Potter if she doesn't just decide to expel him with you anyway," Malfoy said. "That's quite possibly a worse outcome than just giving her Potter from the outset."
Ron grunted and said, "I don't hear any ideas from you."
"I don't have any yet," Malfoy snapped.
They sat in silence for a few moments. It wasn't an awkward silence, but it wasn't comfortable, either; the air felt almost physically heavy with pressure.
"Maybe… maybe it's time to get out," Ron said at last. "Reveal yourself as a traitor to the cause, and go and live with Harry and Sirius—"
"I can't," Malfoy said after a moment, and Ron suspected he'd had to struggle with himself to get there, because the longing on his face had been obvious. "I've not achieved enough with this yet— I've not achieved anything at all—"
"We fed him the prophecy," Ron said. "That's bought us time—he's been quiet for weeks."
"Severus said he's been researching though, which is surely bad for our side." Malfoy shook his head. "It's not enough. And if I fail here—four months in—there's Severus to think about—he's vouched for me. And my father too, I suppose."
"Fine," Ron said. "Then… what if we did get Harry expelled? He's out of Umbridge's reach, and he can go and train at Headquarters. We could go with him—"
"And all have our wands snapped."
"If they can get them, they can take them," Ron said, and a shadow of a smile flickered over Malfoy's face. "Besides, s'not like Binns or Sprout are going to teach us anything we need to know right now. We kill Voldemort, and then we finish school later—"
"Except I very much doubt the Ministry's going to be apologetic if—when—Potter finally sorts out the prophecy and vanquishes the Dark Lord, or whatever. Expulsion's expulsion. Coming back probably won't be an option."
"We can sit our OWLs and NEWTs independently," Ron said halfheartedly. "Hermione's already got us in for Defence in December." Confirmation of that had been in the letters Sirius tried to give them in Hogsmeade. He'd given them properly when he, Dora, and Fleur smuggled themselves into the Room while the rest of the school was still in the village. He sighed. "No, you're right." He sighed again. "Be my confidant, Ron, it'll be fun, Ron."
"What, you're not having the time of your life?" Malfoy drawled. Ron snorted and Malfoy's shoulders slumped. "I don't know what to do," he said. "I feel like whatever we pick here's going to blow up in someone's face."
Ron couldn't help but agree. He wished they could talk to Hermione—she was good at problem solving, and sensible to boot. That wasn't really an option, though.
"Talk to Snape, maybe," Ron said.
"I have," Malfoy said. "Yesterday."
"What'd he say?"
"He agreed there's no easy way out," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "And warned me to be careful."
"Helpful," Ron said sarcastically. "All right, so maybe we can both do some more thinking. We don't have to figure it all out right now—"
"It's taken us two days to meet here," Malfoy said. "I don't know that we have that much time. And you have the letter. The longer you hold onto it without saying anything—"
"I know," Ron said. "I know." Malfoy's mouth turned down but he didn't say anything.
Neither of them did.
"Every time," Dora muttered; her fingers tightened on Sirius' forearm as she used him to stay upright. "Sorry." She blinked and frowned. "Wait… where are we?"
"The Riddle House," Sirius said, a little apologetically; he hadn't misled her, exactly, but when he'd said they ought to go out on Order business, she'd probably assumed they were going to Godric's Hollow—since that was what they'd talked about after the last meeting—and he'd let her.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Dumbledore said not to bother, that it was searched after June."
"Yeah, but Harry thought it was worth checking," Sirius said. "I doubt it'll take long, but I'll feel better if we do." She smiled wryly and nodded, glancing around with more interest than before.
The Riddle House sat on a hill that overlooked a neat little village. They'd arrived just outside the imposing wrought iron gates, at the top of a worn, cobbled path. Through them, he could see the overgrown gardens, decrepit groundskeeper's cottage, and, further up, the dark house, which was in better condition than everything else.
Sirius shivered; though the sun was out, there was a coldness to the Riddle property, a sinisterness. Perhaps it was because of what he knew had happened there in June, or perhaps it was because this was where Voldemort and Wormtail had lived for so long, or, perhaps it was because a young Voldemort had murdered his father and grandparents here.
"Cheery place, eh?" Dora muttered, and stepped around him to inspect the gates; they were locked by a thick chain, Dora frowned at it. Sirius drew his wand surreptitiously, though he knew it was unlikely anyone from the village would be able to make them—let alone a wand—out from this distance. "Wait," Dora said, catching his sleeve. "Look."
The smaller gate was ajar, and when Sirius nudged it with his boot, it swung open soundlessly; it had been used recently, it seemed. Dora drew her own wand, scent wary.
"Death Eaters?"
"Maybe," Sirius said. "But surely they'd have just Apparated or Flooed—"
"We didn't," she said. He snorted.
"We don't know what traps they might have set," he countered, and stepped through the gate.
The lawns were long and starting to reclaim the path, and the plants were bushy and overgrown. Up ahead, sheltered by the greenery, Sirius could see statues and tombstones, and felt a little ill.
"Where do you want to start?" Dora asked quietly; she'd clearly followed his gaze and recognised the graveyard; her scent was both angry and sad. "There? Or the house?"
"The ho—"
Just as he was turning away, though, movement caught his eye; movement in the graveyard, and the wind carried over the faint sound of shoes on gravel. He froze.
"What?" Dora whispered, going still herself.
"There's someone here," he breathed. He was holding his wand so tightly he could feel its grip digging into his palm, but his feet carried him forward, as quietly as possible. Dora crept after him.
They were almost to the outermost part of the graveyard when Dora hissed and went toppling into a rosebush.
There was a scream and Dora yelped—in pain, this time—and it was all Sirius could do not to hex the elderly woman they'd startled.
She was tall, with white hair, and would have been rather stately if she wasn't currently pale and clutching her cardigan. She and Sirius stared at each other while Dora alternated between apologising and cursing, and gingerly extracted herself. Her wand had disappeared, and Sirius took her cue and inched his own into his sleeve and out of sight.
Once Dora was upright, she flashed her Sidekick at the woman, too quickly for her to study it properly. "Police. Sorry about the scare." She glanced down at herself, and then at Sirius. "Er… undercover, obviously."
"Officer White and Officer Wolf," Sirius said, trying for a mix of authoritative and reassuring. He gave a quick flash of his own Sidekick. "We've had reports of suspicious activity." The woman eyed them both like she thought they were suspicious. It was not entirely unfair.
"I've not done anything suspicious, I assure you," the woman said, pursing wrinkled lips. "I've just been here, visiting my Tom." She ran a hand over the tombstone nearest to her, and Sirius' insides flipped at the name on it; Tom Riddle. Voldemort's father, whose bones—bones beneath that very tombstone had helped bring Voldemort back. Harry had been just there, bleeding—
"Your Tom?" Dora asked curiously, as if from very far away. Sirius shook himself. "Were you a friend of the family?"
"I almost was family," the woman sniffed. "Cecilia Burton." It was clear from the way she said it, that that name was supposed to mean something. "We were betrothed," she added, when neither of them said anything.
Memory flashed before Sirius' eyes—one of Dumbledore's; a handsome man and a pretty, young woman, riding a horse past the Gaunt shack, while Merope Gaunt watched from behind a grubby window.
"Oh," he said.
"Oh," she said tersely. "I visit often, and it's not been a problem before."
"It's not a problem now," Sirius said. Thinking quickly, he added, "The reports we had mentioned a man, not a woman." She eyed him. He tried again. "What was he like, your Tom?"
"Handsome," Cecilia said stiffly, but glanced at the tombstone and some of her stiffness seemed to drain away. "Very charming, too. He came from a good family—the Riddles, obviously." She glanced back toward the house. "They were very influential, very well respected, though, of course, that was before that witch Merope got her claws into him and ruined—"
"Witch?" Dora asked, shooting Sirius a look.
"Filthy little tramp," Cecilia said, with venomous relish. Sirius wondered if she'd ever moved on, or just spent the last sixty-something years stewing in her bitterness. "I'll never know what Tom saw in her. She seduced him but he was back less than a year later saying she'd enchanted him, that he didn't know what had come over him." She made a sound of sour amusement. "Maybe she was a witch after all."
"Merope," Sirius said. "That's a bit of an odd name, isn't it?"
"No odder than she was, or the rest of them. You want to know who's responsible for your suspicious activity, it'll be the brother." If there'd been venom in her tone when she was talking about Merope, there was hatred in it now. "He murdered them. My Tom—for leaving her, no doubt—and Mary and Thomas. Went to prison for it, but they released him a few years ago, God knows why." Her eyes sharpened. "But surely you know all that already? I imagine he'd be part of the briefing before they'd let you work around here."
"Yes—Morfin, isn't it?" Sirius asked, and Cecilia's old face twitched with surprise, but she nodded and gave them both another once over, considering. Sirius glanced at Dora. "Maybe we should pay him a visit on the way back to Headquarters, see if he is involved in anything…"
"You don't want to check the house, first?" Dora asked, glancing up the hill.
"S'pose we should," Sirius said, working to sound less interested than he actually felt. It was clear there were no horcruxes in or around the graveyard; he doubted Cecilia would be as unscathed as she was, if there were. If there was anything here, it had to be in the house. "Ah well," he said to Cecilia, "we'd best be off..."
She waved them away, already turning back to Tom Riddle Senior's headstone, and Sirius shared a look with Dora and led the way up toward the Riddle home.
Peter—or maybe even Polkov, way back when—had obviously done some work to make the place liveable for their time there. It wasn't clean, exactly, but neither was the place covered with fifty years worth of dust and grime.
It would have been nice, once, in a dark sort of way. Now, though, as he walked through it, he couldn't help but see Harry's pensieve memory laying over what he was seeing in the present. They were standing right where Harry'd used the killing curse, right where Voldemort had fallen, surprised and afraid and angry. Sirius swallowed.
"You all right?" Dora asked. Her voice seemed very loud in the quiet house.
"They were here," Sirius said gruffly. "In Harry's memory." Dora's mouth opened a little and she looked around, scent sad and angry.
"Do you want to wait here while I—"
"I'm fine," Sirius said. "Just can't help seeing some of it again, that's all." Dora nodded.
Together, they swept through the house's ground floor, and when that yielded nothing, headed upstairs. Dora paused partway up the stairs and made an odd sound and reached out to brush the railing. There was blood there—old, and dried—in the shape of what was unmistakably a hand.
Harry's hand, Sirius was certain. His left hand.
"Evanesco," Dora said firmly, and the print vanished. Sirius made a questioning sound.
"I'm not leaving anything more of him in this place," Dora said, scent protective. Sirius felt a surge of fondness for her. She continued up the stairs, murmuring detection charms. Her expression hardened further when she saw the destruction wrought on the top floor; a doorway blown inward, a bedroom covered in dust and splintered wood and glass, the shattered window on its far side.
Dora swore.
"That's…" It seemed she'd noticed what Sirius had; that the hole in the window was broadly person-shaped.
"Yeah," he said. Ostendere me omnia, he added mentally, and swept his wand in a wide arc. A few charms—muggle repelling, mostly, but there was a failing anti-apparition charm on the house too—lingered, but no other magic gleamed in his sight. "Nothing here, I don't think," he said.
Dora left the room, murmuring a few other spells under her breath, then stopped and nodded.
"Not that I can pick up, either," she said. "Would've been nice if it had been that easy, but I'd be lying if I said I'm not happy for an excuse to get out of here." She glanced back into the destroyed bedroom. She straightened. "Godric's Hollow next? Or were you serious when you said you wanted to go and see Morfin Gaunt?"
"I'm always Sirius," he said, and she rolled her eyes but Sirius felt a little better for the joke—terrible as it was—and Dora's scent was a little lighter too. "I think it's worth a visit. He's been out of Azkaban for a few years now—might be he's remembered something else about the ring since. Might even be that he's found it—if it was ever here—" He gestured around the house. "—he might have come looking before us, taken it already."
"Maybe," Dora said. "I mean, I think it's possible he's remembered something, but I think it's pretty unlikely he's come here and managed to take it—if it was here at all. It'd be more likely he'd have died trying."
"Can't argue there," Sirius said; he himself had almost died trying to retrieve a horcrux and he wasn't too modest to say he was a fairly talented wizard, who'd been well-prepared for that trip, and had had Harry and Kreacher to help. Morfin Gaunt—or what he'd seen of him in Dumbledore's memories—had not struck him as particularly talented or considered, and that was before he'd spent fifty years in Azkaban. He also hadn't struck Sirius as the type to have many—if any—friends, and his only surviving family was Voldemort…
Sirius offered Dora his arm but she shook her head.
"Cecilia'll think it's odd if she doesn't see us leave," she said. "We'll walk."
"And rob her of something else to complain about in town?" Sirius asked.
"She seems that type, doesn't she?" Dora said, snorting.
"And think of the townsfolk—a story about two suspicious strangers'll probably add a bit of variety to what they probably normally hear from her—"
"Thoughtful as that is," Dora said, clearly amused, "I'd rather not draw more attention to ourselves than we already have." She gave him a little nudge toward the stairs. "Come on—my Azkaban stint starts in four hours, and I'd like the chance to nap and eat my weight in chocolate frogs beforehand."