1st August (cont'd…)

"Where are we?" came the sound of Ron's voice.

"Tottenham Court Road," Hermione answered quickly, "Walk, just walk, we need to find somewhere for you to change."

We were stunned by the abruptness of it all and stood in a clump, holding on as though our lives depended on it. I shivered, realising that the thin silk material of the dress was as useful at keeping me warm as an ashtray on a motorbike. Harry, who no longer looked like Barny took off his outer jacket and placed it over my shoulders.

"Thank you," I said gratefully, "Let's get out of here." I led the way.

We half walked, half ran along the footpath, trying not to gain the attention of the late-night partygoers. It was pitch black now, and the streets were lit by harsh artificial lighting which only illuminated the boys' dress robes. A double-decker bus passed and a group of young women found themselves in a fit of giggles at the sight of them.

"Hermione, we haven't got anything to change into," Ron said.

"Why didn't I make sure I had the Invisibility Cloak with me?" Harry cursed his stupidity, "All last year I kept it on me and -"

"It's okay, I've got the Cloak," Hermione told him, "I've got clothes for all of us. Just try and act naturally until – this will do."

Hermione directed us down a side street and into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway. The boys stared in wonder, asking question after question about how Hermione could have clothes for us all when all she had was her beaded bag.

"Undetectable extension charm," she smiled as she pulled out a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, some maroon socks and Harry's Invisibility Cloak. She looked at me and stuck her hand back into the bag and came back with nothing. Giving the bag a little shake, it gave a cavernous echo as the pile of books Hermione had spent hours sorting collapsed. She wore a pained expression, "Harry you'd better put on the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, hurry up and get changed." She fished around inside the bag once more and pulled out a denim jacket for me to don with the gold dress.

"When'd you do all this?" Harry asked as Ron stripped off his robes.

"I told you at The Burrow, I've had the essentials packed for days, you know, in case we needed to make a quick getaway. Kathryn and I have been gathering the essentials all summer. I packed your rucksack this morning, Harry, after you changed, and put it in here … I just had a feeling, especially after Kathryn's close encounter with a couple of Death Eaters looking for the two of you in the shop."

Ron handed Hermione his bundled-up robes, "You're amazing, you are."

"Thank you," she managed a small smile before chiding, "Please, Harry, get that Cloak on!"

Harry, who was looking increasingly like himself again, finally threw the Cloak around his shoulders and covered his head, vanishing from sight. I wondered if I should do the same. It was as though Hermione read my mind as she nodded in agreement.

"The others – everyone at the wedding –" the invisible Harry said.

"We can't worry about that right now," Hermione whispered, "It's you they're after, Harry, and we'll just put everyone in even more danger by going back."

"She's right," Ron agreed, "most of the Order was there, they'll look after everyone."

I cleared my throat, thinking about George's face, about how I didn't get to tell him I loved him that one last time. It might've been my last opportunity and –

"Please don't cry…" Hermione patted my arm soothingly, "Everyone will be okay. The Death Eaters will have realised that you and Harry aren't there and there will be no reason for them to hang around much longer."

"Yeah."

"Come on, I think we ought to keep moving," Hermione said.

The four of us, two trying to act as inconspicuously as possible and two of us invisible, walked the length of Tottenham Court Road. I could hear Ron and Hermione chatting behind me as Harry and I walked in front. Hermione reckons that we'll be safer in the Muggle World. I agree; I've been able to operate in Muggle London all summer without being spotted, but it is always a risk. It just takes one glance from the wrong person.

"We can hardly book rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, can we?" Hermione cringed as men on the other side of the road started wolf-whistling her, "And Grimmauld Place is out if Snape can get in there… I suppose we could try my parent's house, though I think there's a chance they might check there … oh I wish they'd shut up!"

"All right, darling?" the drunkest of the men yelled, "Fancy a drink? Ditch the ginger and come and have a pint!"

"Let's sit down somewhere," Hermione said before any of us could react, "in here will do." She directed us into a 24-hour café. Ron stood with the door open as long as he could without being weird to allow Harry and me to follow Hermione in. Inside were bubbling lino floors, shabby seating with the sponge padding exposed and greasy tables. I was not surprised in the slightest to see that it was also empty. I prayed that whatever was on the seat would not transfer onto the dress as I sat beside Hermione, with our backs facing the door.

It was obvious that none of us felt comfortable being stationary. Hermione kept looking over her shoulder and Ron's eyes were darting around the room on high alert. I felt like getting onto my knees and praying. We sat in silence for several minutes. We had not had time to come up with a plan.

"You know, we're not far from the Leaky Cauldron, it's only in Charing Cross -"

"Ron, we can't!" Hermione said at once.

He reasoned, "Not to stay there, but to find out what's going on!"

"We know what's going on! Voldemort's taken over the Ministry, what else do we need to know?"

He sighed, "Okay, okay! It was just an idea."

The four of us sat in a prickly silence once again. A waitress, who was chewing gum, opening her mouth wide with every chew so that I could see her tonsils, asked to take the order. Hermione asked for two cappuccinos since Harry and I weren't visible customers.

I noticed that as Hermione ordered, two burly-looking workmen entered the café and squeezed into the next booth. She instinctively spoke in a whisper, "I say we find a quiet place to Disapparate and head for the countryside. Once we're there, we could send a message to the Order."

"Can you do that talking Patronus thing, then?" Ron asked.

"I've been practising and I think so."

"Well, as long as it doesn't get them into trouble, though they might've been arrested already. God, that's revolting."

I would have kicked Ron under the table if the waitress hadn't been in earshot. She was visibly affronted by his comment and went to the next table to order to take their order. But they waved her on.

"Hermione -" I said, touching her arm. Climbing over her to get out of the seat to get a look at these men, she didn't feel a thing. She was too busy talking to Ron about how they were going to pay for the coffee.

The two workmen made identical movements and within a split second, the four of us had our wands out ready to defend ourselves. Ron launched himself across the table, pushing Hermione sideways onto the bench where I had been seconds before. The force of the Death Eaters' spells shattered the tiled wall where Ron's head had just been and a bolt of red light appeared from where Harry was invisibly seated.

The large, blond wizard, whom I recognised from the Battle a few weeks back took the bolt to his face and was knocked unconscious. I immediately recognised the other Death Eater: Dolohov, who sent a spell that hit Ron in the back, binding his body with ropes. The waitress panicked and ran for the door, but a bolt of red light that rebounded off the white tiles hit her and she collapsed onto the floor.

I pointed my wand at Dolohov's chest and said very calmly, "Stupefy." – as Hermione cast from under a nearby table, "Petrificus Totalus."

Dolohov got taken out by a double whammy but had simultaneously blindly shouted, "EXPULSO!" in what I could only assume was Harry's direction which caused the table to explode. The force of the explosion caused Harry to slam into the wall and he was left wandless as the Cloak slipped off him.

I stood over Dolohov's body, "He's out, we're good."

Hermione crawled out from under the table, shaking bits of glass and ashtray out of her hair, trembling all over.

"D – Diffindo!" she said, pointing her wand at Ron, who roared in pain as she slashed open the knee of his jeans, leaving a deep cut, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Ron, my hand's shaking!"

"Let me help," I said, lowering Hermione's wand with my hand, and making myself visible. I decided to heal Ron's wound before severing the ropes that bound him. Harry, meanwhile, picked up his wand and climbed over the debris to where the large blond Death Eater was sprawled on the bench, "He was there the night Dumbledore died." I announced, "The one sending spells in every direction."

"I think his name's Thorfinn Rowle." He got up and dusted himself off, "That's Dolohov."

Hermione was hysterical, "Never mind what they're called! How did they find us? What are we going to do?"

Harry spouted instructions. Ron plunged the café into darkness with the aid of his Deluminator. Hermione locked the door and closed the blinds.

"What're we going to do with them?" Ron asked in a whisper, "Kill them? They'd kill us, they've already tried."

"Think of how many questions that would lead to." I said, "They'd know it was us."

Harry nodded, "We just need to wipe their memories. It's better like that, it'll throw them off the scent. If we killed them, it'd be obvious we were here."

"You're the boss," Ron said, sounding profoundly relieved. I don't reckon any of us fancy having the murder of two people on our consciences, "But I've never done a memory charm."

"Nor have I," Hermione said, "But I know the theory."

I nodded, "I do, too. I'll take Dolohov, you take Rowle?"

Harry and Ron cleared up, making the café look as normal as possible on our departure. I could hardly concentrate as Ron told Hermione that she packed his old jeans, which were too tight, and that's why it was so difficult to get his wand out. Hermione suggested where Ron could stick his wand, but I don't think he heard.

"Obliviate," I said, concentrating hard on making Dolohov forget what happened.

Hermione and I both nodded to each other when we were finished, not knowing if the charm worked or not, but hoping for the best, nonetheless. I moved Dolohov back to the table where he was with Rowle, and the two of them were poised, staring at each other. Harry had moved the waitress into the kitchen and Hermione modified her memory.

I had to sit down for a minute and take in everything that had just happened. My head span as I thought. I heard the others talk about the Trace still being on Harry. But Ron rightly stated that it's Wizarding Law that The Trace breaks once an individual turns seventeen.

"We need a safe place to hide," Ron added, "Give us time to think things through."

"Grimmauld Place," Harry said.

Ron and Hermione gasped.

"Don't be silly, Harry, Snape can get in there!"

"Ron's Dad said they put up jinxes against him – and even if they haven't worked," Harry pressed on as Hermione threatened to argue, "so what? I swear, I'd like nothing more than to meet Snape!"

"But -"

I interrupted Hermione, "I'd very much like to give him a piece of my mind, too. He almost killed George -"

"And where else is there?" Harry asked, "It's the best chance we've got. Snape's only one Death Eater. If I've still got the Trace on me, we'll have whole crowds of them on us wherever else we go."

Hermione could not argue, not when she knew we were out of options. So, it was decided. Hermione unlocked the door of the café, and I caused us all to be invisible as they reversed the spells on the three victims and Disapparated before they could wake up.

Turning on the spot, we arrived in the middle of a familiar small and shabby square. Tall, dilapidated houses faced us on every side. Number twelve was only visible to us because Dumbledore had told us about its existence. Carefully, I walked towards the house, holding on to the other three, checking to see if we'd been followed or observed. Harry tapped the front door once with his wand, to release the series of locks and the door swung open biding us entry beyond the threshold.

Letting go only when Harry shut the door, the old-fashioned gas lamps sprang into life, casting flickering light down the gloomy hallway. It hadn't changed in the slightest, from the cobwebs, house-elf heads lining the wall up the staircase and the portrait of Sirius' mother. The only thing that was out of place was the troll's leg umbrella stand which was lying on its side as though Tonks had knocked it over again.

"I think somebody's been in here," Hermione whispered, pointing towards it.

"That could've happened when the Order left," Ron murmured back.

Harry looked around, "So where are these jinxes they put up against Snape?"

"Maybe they're only activated if he shows up?" Ron suggested.

None of us had been brave enough to venture past the mat at the door. On high alert, Harry took a step forward.

"Severus Snape?"

It was the whispering voice of the deceased Mad-Eye Moody. Jumping back in fright, I shivered.

"We're not Snape!" Harry croaked before something whooshed over us like cold air and our tongues rolled backwards on themselves, making it impossible to speak. Within seconds it had reverted to normal again. I coughed, having nearly choked on my saliva.

"That – m – must have b – been the T – Tongue-Tying Curse Mad-Eye set up for Snape!"

Cautiously we all took a step forward. Something shifted in the shadows at the end of the hall, and before any of us could react, a figure had risen up out of the carpet, tall, dust-coloured and terrible: Hermione and I both screamed, causing Mrs Black's curtains to fly open and for her to start wailing; the grey figure was gliding towards us, faster and faster, it's waist-length hair and beard streaming past it, its face sunken, fleshless, with empty eye sockets, horribly resemblant of Albus Dumbledore, it raised a wasted arm, pointing at Harry.

"No!" Harry shouted in our defence, "No! It wasn't us! We didn't kill you -"

On the word 'kill' the figure exploded into a great cloud of dust. I thought I was going to be sick as it filled my mouth and went into my eyes. I spat unapologetically on the floor. Hermione had crouched on the floor with her hands over her head, trembling. Ron was shaking from head to toe, patting her clumsily on her shoulder saying, "It's all r – right, it's – g – gone."

"Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonour, 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.

Ron helped Hermione up off the floor as she uttered, "That … that was …"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "but it wasn't really him, was it? Just something to scare Snape."

"Scared the bejeezus out of me," I commented.

Harry braved another step forward. Nothing happened.

"Before we go any further, I think we'd better check…" Hermione whispered, squirming after seeing a mouse running along the edge of the skirting boards, "Homenum revelio."

No-one.

"Well, you've just had a big shock," Ron said kindly, "What was that supposed to do?"

"It did what I meant it to do!" she said defensively, a cross note to her voice, "That was a spell to reveal human presence, and there's nobody here except us!"

"And old Dusty."

I was not ready for that to be seen as a joke. I still wanted to vomit at the thought of having whatever-that-was in my mouth. The three of us followed Hermione as she climbed the stairs up to the drawing room on the first floor. It was drafty and I had a look for firewood as she sat on the sofa and Ron had a look outside to see if we had any followers. There was no one to be seen.

Harry let out a sudden cry of pain.

"What's wrong?" I clutched him, "What's happened? Is George okay?"

"I just felt anger – he's really angry."

Ron and I desperately questioned Harry for more information about the situation at The Burrow. Hermione was quick to chide him for opening his mind to Voldemort again, that he can't let it happen, especially with what happened last time when Voldemort planted a fake memory. Harry only became annoyed at this; how could he forget? Sirius was dead as a result. I watched him closely as he turned his back. He was in immense pain and he was trying to conceal it.

Hermione let out a shriek and the two of us turned on the spot with our wands out, ready for action. A silver Patronus entered the room and transformed on the floor into the familiar Weasel belonging to Arthur. His voice was calm as he announced, "Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched."

The Patronus disappeared into nothingness. Ron let out a noise between a whimper and a groan. He collapsed onto the sofa and Hermione joined him. I stared at the spot where the Patronus had been and burst into tears.

"They're all right, they're all right!" Hermione whispered, comforting Ron.

"Harry," Ron said over her shoulder, "I -"

"It's not a problem," Harry said, "it's your family, 'course you're worried. I'd feel the same way. I do feel the same way."

It had only been a couple of hours and I was desperate to see George, to hold him, to kiss him one last time. If I knew when I'd next be seeing him, I'd feel more content. But the way we left things; I didn't even get to say goodbye. As I continued to sob, I sat on one of the sofas, trying desperately to find some goodness. But it was tough. I didn't get changed out of the bridesmaid dress or shoes, instead, I curled myself up into a ball and sat staring into space. At some point, someone put a sleeping bag over me, and when the room was pitch black, I cried myself to sleep.

2nd August

I woke up with a start this morning with what can only be described as an emotional hangover. Ron and Hermione called out frantically for Harry and there was a clatter of footsteps as they followed the sound of his voice upstairs. I let out an involuntary groan and my head hit the armchair once again and shut my eyes tight; my head was banging and my eyes stung. I wanted nothing more than for George to cuddle me, but he'd probably make me be sensible and take some pain relief and drink a tonne of water.

Merlin, I miss him so much and it's not even been a day.

I was on the verge of wallowing in my own self-pity when I forced myself to get up and climb the stairs. Hermione had my belongings, so I grabbed the sleeping bag and threw it over my shoulders as I was still wearing the stupidly thin bridesmaid dress.

"Kathryn, you look awful," Hermione said as I pushed open Sirius' bedroom door.

"Cheers." I said, shielding my eyes from the light streaming in, "I could do with a rejuvenation potion if you don't mind?"

Ron tried to fight the urge to laugh, "How much did you have to drink last night, exactly?"

I ignored him as I knocked back the drink and waited for it to kick in before speaking to Harry, "Find something?" I asked, bundling myself up in the sleeping bag.

Harry passed me a handwritten letter:

Dear Padfoot,

Thank you, thank you, for Harry's birthday present! It was his favourite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself, I'm enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground, but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course, James thought it was funny, says he's going to be a great Quidditch player, but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off him when he gets going.

We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda, who has always been sweet to us, and who dotes on Harry. We were so sorry you couldn't come, but the Order's got to come first, and Harry's not old enough to know it's his birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell - also, Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend, I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the news about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard.

Bathilda drops in most days, she's a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore, I'm not sure he'd be pleased if he knew! I don't know how much to believe, actually, because it seems incredible that Dumbledore –

I turned over the letter and frowned, "Dumbledore what?"

He shrugged, "No idea. I've been searching, but I can't find the rest of it," he handed me over the picture in question, "that must be me and my dad."

I felt a warmness in my stomach that I'd been craving, "These are such precious memories. I think I've… three baby pictures, and they're not exactly anything to be proud of. Just look how happy you were, it's funny how your parents predicted you'd be a Quidditch player!"

Harry and I shared a smile that did not last long. We both craved a family we would never have.

"I'm gonna go shower," I said, grabbing a few more supplies out of Hermione's beaded bag, "let's hope I can charm some hot water out to make me feel a little more … human."

"KATHRYN! RON! Get up here, quick!"

Hopping to get my jeans on, I rushed out of the bathroom, beaded bag in hand, "What's wrong?" I panted.

"If it's massive spiders again, I want breakfast before I -"

Ron and I stood, wands raised, looking expectantly at Hermione who was frowning at the sign on a bedroom door. Though Ron caught on a lot faster than me, "What? That was Sirius' brother, wasn't it? Regulus Arcturus … Regulus … R.A.B! The locket – you don't reckon -?"

"Let's find out!" Harry suggested, pushing open the door which was locked.

"Alohomora!" Hermione spoke, and the door clicked and swung open.

The four of us moved over the threshold together, looking around the musty-smelling room. The room had a very old-school Slytherin grandeur about it, with emerald-green and silver accents seen where the walls weren't adorned with a collage of yellowing newspaper cuttings all about Voldemort. Harry went over to view a picture of the Slytherin Quidditch team, I glanced over his shoulder and Regulus was instantly recognisable as the man in the middle of the front row.

"He played Seeker," Harry said.

"I wonder how good he was."

Peering up at the ceiling, I could see the Black family crest painted over the bed, made recognisable to me through the moto 'Toujours Pur' I had seen before. I sat down on the bed, a puff of dust rising from the bedcovers, causing me to sneeze.

This could have been my bedroom. I thought to myself, not this exact room, but my room could have the Black family crest for Bellatrix, the newspaper cuttings of Voldemort, and me, a proud Slytherin.

"Are you okay?" Hermione gently touched my arm.

I gave my head a shake, "Sorry, I was in another world."

"We need to manually search for the locket…" she searched my face, "Spells won't work and it seems like someone else has been here before us."

"Yeah, of course, I'll have a look over here." I went over to the chest of drawers, that had quite clearly already been searched by someone else. Every item of clothing was individually patted down and every trinket was thoroughly inspected. We were looking for over an hour when we concluded that the locket could simply not be there.

The sun had risen now; the light dazzled us through the grimy windows of the landing.

"It could be somewhere else in the house, though," Hermione said, attempting to rally us up as we headed downstairs, "Whether he'd managed 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 realise it at… at…"

"What?" I questioned as Hermione stood dumbstruck with one foot in mid-air.

"… at the time," she finished in a whisper.

Ron stared at her, "Something wrong?"

"There was a locket."

"What? Where?" Harry, Ron and I said in unison.

"In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it. And we… we…"

I saw the realisation growing in Harry's face, he had seen this locket. Held it, even. That was the summer I had spent in Malfoy Manor; I had no idea what they were talking about.

"Kreacher nicked loads of stuff back from us," Harry said as though all his hope was now pinned on a House Elf who hated him, "he had a whole stash of things in his cupboard in the kitchen. C'mon."

Harry ran down the stairs, two steps at a time, the other two thundering in his wake. I took a more cautious approach. This building was old and rotting and knowing our luck something would break and – never mind. The portrait of Sirius' mother screamed, "Mudbloods! Filth! Scum!" and I then dashed down into the basement kitchen, slamming the door behind us, blocking her out.

Harry had already run the length of the kitchen, skidding to a halt at the door of Kreacher's cupboard and wrenched it open. The nest of dirty old blankets was no longer glittering with the trinkets Kreacher had salvaged. The only thing left was an old copy of Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. Refusing to believe his eyes, Harry grabbed the blankets and shook them. A dead mouse fell out and rolled dismally across the floor. I let out a high-pitched noise, Rob jumped onto a chair and Hermione clamped her eyes shut.

"It's not over yet," Harry said, raising his voice and calling, "Kreacher!"

There was a loud crack and Kreacher 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 manky old cloth from when I first laid eyes on him. It was obvious that Kreacher's contempt for Harry had not changed as I stood back, watching as the House-Elf bowed to Harry.

"Master," Kreacher croaked, muttering to his knees, "back in my mistress's old house with the blood traitor Weasley and the Mudblood -"

"I forbid you to call anyone 'blood traitor' or 'Mudblood'," growled Harry impatiently, his contempt also evident towards the House-Elf, "I've got a question for you and I order you to answer truthfully. Understand?"

Kreacher bowed low, "Yes, Master."

"Two years ago, 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 to look Harry full in the face before responding, "Yes."

"Where is it now?" Harry asked jubilantly, all four of us leaning forward in anticipation.

Kreacher closed his eyes as though he could not bear to witness our reactions as he uttered, "Gone."

"Gone?" Harry repeated, "What do you mean, it's gone?"

The elf shivered and swayed on the spot.

"Kreacher," Harry said fiercely, "I order you –"

"Mundungus Fletcher," croaked the elf, his eyes still tight shut, "Mundungus Fletcher stole it all: Miss Bella and Miss Cissy's pictures, my mistress's gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and, and –" Kreacher gulped for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly resembling the onset of a panic attack.

Suddenly his eyes flew open and he uttered a blood-curdling scream, "- and the locket, Master Regulus' 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: "Kreacher, I order you to stay still!"

The elf froze, allowing Harry to release him. Kreacher lay flat on the stone floor, tears gushing from his sagging eyes. He was a sorrowful sight.

"Harry, let him up!" Hermione whispered.

"So he can beat himself with the poker?" Harry snorted, 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!" the elf gasped, tears still dripping from his eyes, "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 …"

Harry proceeded to question Kreacher, asking him why he called the locket 'Master Regulus's' and how it came to be in their possession.

Kreacher sat up, placing his head between his knees, rocking back and forth, "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 pride; 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 happy to serve." Kreacher paused, "And one day, a year after he had joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher and he said – he said…"

Kreacher started rocking again. Hermione was on her knees on the stone floor, desperate to console the elf.

"… he said that the Dark Lord required an elf."

"Voldemort needed an elf?" Harry repeated, looking around at the three of us for clarity. Why would Voldemort need an elf?

"Oh yes," moaned Kreacher, "And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honour, an honour for Master Regulus and Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do … and then to c – come home. So Kreacher went with 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 in the cavern was a great, black lake…"

Harry had told us about this cave, and the boat. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up and I knew my suspicions were correct, Voldemort had used Kreacher to test out the defences of the cave, to drink the poison out of the basin, the same basin that Harry forced Dumbledore to drink from, mere hours before his death.

"Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for 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 …"

I wiped a single tear roughly from my cheek. No one deserved to be treated with such cruelty. Kreacher told of how he was thirsty and drank from the Black Lake and was pulled under the surface by dead hands.

"But how did you get away?" Harry whispered.

Kreacher raised his ugly head and looked at Harry with great, bloodshot eyes, "Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back."

"He Disapparated." Ron said as Harry again looked around for help, "Elf magic isn't like wizard's magic, is it? House Elves can Apparate and Disapparate into Hogwarts when we can't."

Harry sat in silence, digesting this information. About how Voldemort made a very stupid mistake.

"Of course, Voldemort would have considered the ways of House-Elves far beneath him, just like all the pure-bloods who treat them like animals … 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."

Hermione nodded, offering words of praise and, in my opinion, treated Kreacher like a child being told they were a good little girl or boy. I doubt she will win over the elf with kind words.

"So, what happened when you got back?" Harry asked, "What did Regulus say when you told him what had happened?"

Of course, Regulus was deeply troubled by this news. And of course, that news would change an individual. It is disturbing to find out Voldemort's secret and the lengths he went to create each Horcrux.

What Kreacher said next was not what I was expecting… Kreacher brought Regulus to the cave. Regulus drank the poison, "Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like one the Dark Lord had," Kreacher sobbed, 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 … And he ordered Kreacher to leave – without him. He told Kreacher to go home – and never 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…" Hermione wailed, trying to hug the elf. At once, he was on his feet, cringing to get 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'!" Harry snarled.

The Elf was already punishing himself, as he fell to the ground, banging his forehead on the floor.

"Stop him – stop him!" Hermione cried out, "Oh, don't you see, now, how sick it is, the way they've got to obey?"

"Kreacher – stop, stop!" Harry shouted over the raucous.

Kreacher lay on the floor, panting and shivering, green mucus glistening around his snout, a bruise already forming on his pallid forehead where he had punished himself. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, swimming in tears. I carefully opened Kreacher's cupboard, lifted out a blanket with my thumb and forefinger and handed it to the elf, I found it so difficult watching him in such distress.

Harry then persisted in asking Kreacher about the locket, what he did when he got back home, and what spells he used to try and destroy it. Nothing had worked, Kreacher explained. He could not get it to open, nor could he explain to his mistress why her son had disappeared. Beyond that explanation, Kreacher became incoherent.

Harry sat back, deep in thought, there was something he could not get his head around, "I don't understand you, Kreacher… Voldemort tried to kill you, and 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…" Hermione explained, wiping her tears 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. He is loyal to those who are kind to him and Mrs Black must have been and Regulus certainly was, so he served them willingly and without question."

Harry opened his mouth to interject but Hermione continued, "I know what you're going to say… That Regulus changed his ways, but he doesn't seem to have explained that to Kreacher, has he? And I think I know why; Kreacher and Regulus's family were all safer if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all."

"Sirius -"

"Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, Harry, you can't deny that," I said.

Hermione nodded, "Kreacher had been alone for a long time when Sirius came back to live here, and he was probably starving for a bit of affection, which was offered, I'm sure by 'Miss Cissy' and 'Miss Bella'." Hermione glanced briefly at me before continuing, "So he did them a favour in return, telling them everything they wanted to know, especially after they weren't able to get the information out of Kathryn. I know I've said it before, but wizards really ought to treat House-Elves better or they'll pay as Voldemort did … and Sirius."

Harry leaned forward again to address the elf, "Kreacher, when you feel up to it, er … please sit up."

It was several minutes before Kreacher hiccoughed himself into silence. He then pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes like a small child.

"Kreacher," Harry spoke again, kindness now being reinforced in his tone, as he looked to Hermione for guidance, "I am going to ask you to do something. Kreacher, I want you, please, to go and find Mundungus Fletcher. We need to find out where the locket – where Master Regulus's locket is. It's really important. We want to finish the work Master Regulus started; we want to – er – make sure he didn't die in vain."

Kreacher dropped his fists and gazed up at Harry, "Find Mundungus Fletcher?"

"And bring him here, to Grimmauld Place," Harry said, "Do you think you could do that for us?"

Kreacher nodded and got to his feet. Harry reached into the purse that he always kept on his person, and lifted out the fake Horcrux, "Eh, Kreacher, I'd like you to have this," he pressed the locket into Kreacher's hands, "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," Ron said.

Kreacher took one look at the locket and became inconsolable once more. It took almost half an hour to calm him down. He had become so overwhelmed by the presentation of a Black family heirloom to even stand. But as he gained strength, he tottered over to his cupboard, with his blanket and locket in hand, and tucked up the locket safely. The four of us vowed to keep it safe until his return. He made three low bows to Harry, Ron and me, and made a little twitch towards Hermione before Disapparating with the usual loud crack.