The Crooked Heart
Sorry for the lateness! Shan't happen again!
THE CROOKED HEART
“Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.” - Napoleon Bonaparte
Chapter Three: The Cup of Hufflepuff
Spinner’s End was a small neighbourhood. It was filled with diminutive, low maintenance homes that lacked in both class and classy owners. The dirty bricked houses sported leaks, cracks and rats. Their owners were traditionally, not much better than their fellow rodent inhabitants. The houses were formerly owned by the government, and the government used to place ex-convicts and the scummiest of the scummiest unemployed into this neighborhood. As a result, even years after the government stopped this exercise, a stigma had developed and it would not be shaken.
For these reasons, many thought Severus Snape mad for purchasing his home in such a muggle neighborhood. Aside from the obvious reasons of hygiene; why should this man, who believes in pure-bloods and the desecration of all things un-magical, want to live in the heart of the enemy’s strong hold? It made sense to no one but the man himself.
“I don’t understand it at all,” said a whimpering Peter Pettigrew - or simply ‘Wormtail’ - who was fidgeting in Snape’s front room, trying to find a comfortable position on the uncomfortable couch. “Why can we not move closer to the Dark Lord? Surely we would be safer?”
Snape rolled his eyes and drawled unpleasantly, “I beg you not to try and understand the reasoning of an intellect, Wormtail. You’ll only give yourself a headache.”
Wormtail frowned and wished he could retort, but he knew better. Snape was the Dark Lord’s favourite, not to mention, much more powerful than he was. But even though there was a mutual detestation for each other; Wormtail would prefer to talk to the man than sit there bored, doing nothing but trying to block out the sounds of the muggle drug hoarders next door. Or worse than nothing, be locked up in the basement - as Snape had taken to doing to him when the Dark Lord or important Death Eaters visited.
Wormtail had given up his resentment for not being more in the Dark Lord’s favor. In fact, over time, he had found that he did not envy Snape or the young Malfoy or Avery their positions very much at all. More responsibility meant he would have more control over others, that was true. And he would also be looked upon in a better light by his master. But when missions failed, all blame was placed on the leaders and they took on all punishments. Failures tended to come thick and fast for Wormtail. So only on occasions such as this, when it became clear to even his simple mind that he was not serving just the Dark Lord, but his fellow minions as well, did strands of jealousy seep into his mind.
Wormtail fiddled with his robe collar and looked away from his reluctant companion, wondering how he had ended up in muggle dump like this, with the wallpaper wilting away and every floor board creaking in umbrage at having to remain solid for its occupants. Snape seemed to neither notice nor care for his roommate’s restlessness and remained immersed in a Potions book written entirely in Latin. Wormtail did not know Latin. James, Sirius and Remus had though - the latter being particularly good. This thought reminded Wormtail of a certain ploy he had been using of late, to attract Snape’s attention. It often resulted in him being locked up in the basement, but at least it provided him with some form of entertainment, if only for a few minutes.
“Jam- Potter was meant to teach me Latin. Never got around to it - thought teaching me to fly was more important,” Wormtail said, attempting to sound nonchalant and remove the smirk from his voice.
Snape looked up at Wormtail irritably. “I would ask you not to talk about James Potter in my presence. Ever.”
“Why not?” Wormtail asked, feigning a sulk and keeping his eyes on the dusty, wooden floor.
Snape rolled his eyes again and gave Wormtail a look of deepest disdain, and bit of disbelief at someone being so stupid. “Because he’s dead, and I like it that way. I don’t want to think about him … living.”
Wormtail was about to question Snape further when there was a tetchy knock at the door. “Get the door, Wormtail,” Snape said quickly, cutting off any further conversation. Wormtail got to his feet crossly and went to the door, his fun now over. On his way, he threw a chunk of wood onto the fire. Snape liked a cold house - a Slytherin cliché not missed on even Wormtail who regularly attempted to berate him for it.
“Who is it?” Wormtail asked at the door.
“It’s Bellatrix, you insufferable rodent, let me in before the muggles see!” Bellatrix’s incensed voice bit through the air. Wormtail looked over his shoulder at Snape for permission to open the door - Bellatrix Lestrange was not one of Snape’s preferred people - and Snape nodded his head in confirmation.
Bellatrix barged in, clearly in a bad mood, and looked around the front room with her usual sneer. She did not meet Snape’s eyes though. Wormtail sidled next to the bookcase, where he tended to be forgotten, and therefore, discovered more news of his lord. Wormtail was not invited to inner circle meetings anymore, he hadn’t been for almost a year, and Snape never divulged any information.
“Well Severus, are you going to offer me a beverage?” she asked, her hands on hips.
“No, that would invite you to stay longer than I wish you to,” Snape said coolly. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.
“Very well, I’ll get straight to it. I need information-”
Snape raised his hand impatiently for her to stop. “I will tell you nothing of the next mission, and will only discuss with you that which you already know. So don’t bother.” Bellatrix gave Snape a look that would send any other man quivering, but Snape had never been intimidated by Bellatrix. Even though, he perhaps, should have been. She could do a lot of damage when her mind and twisted heart were truly in it.
“Do you not trust me, Snape? I think that quite ridiculous. I merely wish to be prepared.”
Snape sneered nastily at her. “You are here because you wish to pick a fight with me out of anger and frustration at the Dark Lord. You have no one but yourself to blame for losing his favor, and I have far too much to do tonight to waste time bickering with you. Now, if you could kindly leave…”
Bellatrix paced back and forth angrily, Wormtail could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. “I deserve to know! I have done everything he has asked of me, and more! I even told him of Draco! I betrayed my nephew’s confidence for him and I still get nothing!”
Snape had sat through the outburst aloofly, but at the mention of Draco, he snapped his head up. “What about Draco?”
“Has Narcissa not called on you?” Bellatrix snorted and said viciously, “I thought she’d go whining to you straight away.”
“Please explain,” Snape asked, appearing indifferent. “I cannot afford another interruption tonight.”
Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and smirked. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
Snape’s lip curled. “Fine,” he muttered.
Bellatrix began talking quickly and animatedly and Wormtail thought it amusing that even she could not help but gossip - an unfortunate flaw of most women. “When I was teaching Draco to fight Veritaserum, he let out a couple of things he perhaps shouldn’t of. Though, I suppose he could not help it,” she said, not appearing the least bit concerned for her nephew, despite her earlier sentiments of breaking his confidence. “So I decided to report to the Dark Lord right away instead of waiting ‘til tomorrow night. Did you now he was gay? Lucius will be most embarrassed. But that wasn’t even the worst of it,” she said with that mad gleam in her eye leaning over the couch Wormtail had formerly been sitting on. “He said he didn’t want to kill Dumbledore! Pretty much admitted to not having it in him. The Dark Lord was very displeased.”
Snape stood up suddenly, looking as incensed as Bellatrix had on arrival. “You are a fool! Draco is barely hanging on as-” Snape quickly stopped himself. “Get out of my house,” he ordered coldly.
“Oh no you don’t, we made a deal,” said Bellatrix, her hands back on her hips. “And what do you mean about Draco?”
“Wormtail! Show her out!” Snape turned his back on her and Wormtail opened the door and attempted to bustle her out. She slapped him hard on the arm.
“Don’t touch me, you rat! You are not kicking me-”
“Out!” Snape bellowed and Bellatrix was suddenly lifted off the ground and she flew out the room, the door slamming loudly and powerfully in her wake, causing the dust on the roof to shake itself off on to their heads.
Snape slumped back down to his chair, and after a moment, continued with his book. He appeared just as before, but for the obvious crease of anger in his brow. Wormtail raised his eyebrows and looked out the front room window. He could make out the small figure of Bellatrix shaking twigs off her robes and swearing loudly.
He looked at his companion in amazement. Snape rarely showed that much emotion. Wormtail headed silently for the basement. The dark cold would be better than being the object of Snape’s anger release.
Snape’s hand shook as he turned the pages of his book.
(())
“Wow,” said Hermione her mouth hanging open slightly. “I’ve always wanted to come here. I can’t believe it, it’s magnificent.”
Ron and Harry came up either side of her. “I don’t see what’s so special about it,” said Ron. “Looks like a regular castle to me.”
Hermione looked extremely put out and she looked up at the great castle in front of her with disbelief. They were standing out the front of the east wing, gazing at the rather intimidating grey stone, in search of an entrance. The Welsh night sky was full of stars and the quarter moon glowed almost seductively down at them. Hermione wished that they could have come here under different circumstances.
“A regular castle? A regular castle?” Hermione exclaimed. “This is the Lledrithio Caer! This was the home of the ancient Welsh sorceress, Aaecien! She killed thousands in these walls; no wonder Voldemort chose it to hide part of his soul.”
Ron shivered at hearing the name but otherwise ignored it. “Well she’s dead and this castle is a muggle museum now, so shall we not live in the past?” Ron stated, moving towards a glassless window. Hermione scowled and put her hand on her hips as Harry tried hard to stifle his snickers. Hermione did not like arguing with Ron. It was almost the very opposite of things she wanted to do with him, but somehow, they just couldn’t help themselves. An old habit is hard to break.
“Fine,” she said crossly, following him.
They scrambled rather awkwardly through the window and landed in what appeared to be a kitchen of sorts. There was a red rope separating the old fire place, the pots and the stone benches, so that the muggle tourists would not damage the ancient items. The kitchen had an odd smell of lead and freshly cut grass, reminding Hermione of a cave she had once visited with her parents in France.
“Well where should we start?” Ron asked, as they all silently moved onto the other side of the rope.
“Hmm …” Hermione thought for a moment. “We don’t know exactly what we’re looking for - only that a horcrux might be here.”
“It’ll be something rich, old, ornamental,” said Harry quietly, lighting his wand.
Hermione peered at his face, now illuminated. He appeared so much older than he had six months ago. And his eyes … they sported the look of someone who had seen too much. They looked tortured. Hermione sighed to herself and said, “Well if the Horcrux is something ornamental, it won’t be in the kitchen. This is a big castle, we better get moving before daylight, otherwise we’ll run into the muggle tourists.”
“Yeah, plus the Swansea Pub had a great lamb shanks soup, they stop serving after midnight,” stated Ron. Hermione bit her tongue and plunged forward, leading Ron and Harry into the hall.
They searched the dining room, the main hall, the drawing room, two bedrooms, and could find nothing that appeared to be harboring a soul. Hermione had picked up several objects, a vase, a music box and a crystal cat, but Harry took one look at all of them and shook his head. Hermione was getting frustrated and the castle was freezing. She had a horrible feeling being inside it, like she could feel all the death that this place had once invited.
They moved out of a third bedroom, still unsuccessful, and made for the third floor gallery. The gallery was as large as the great hall in Hogwarts, and was lighted magnificently by the moon that seeped in through the leadlight windows.
“This place is great,” said Hermione in awe. She followed the red rope which led to a small plaque that the muggles had written on, describing each room. This one said:
The Great Gallery
This room is perhaps the most mysterious of all Lledrithio Caer’s rooms. The paintings that fill every space on the walls are very grand, but even the greatest experts are unable to name even one of the artists. It is as if they come from another world. Many that venture to the Swansea countryside to view these works swear they feel the paintings watching them almost as intently as they watch the paintings.
“Silly muggles,” said Ron, almost affectionately behind Hermione’s shoulder. She turned to face him and looked him fixedly in the eye. He was very close and stared back, giving her a little smile. She felt herself going red, but was unable to look away. She was about to say something when Harry’s voice snapped them out of it.
“Hey! Look at this bloke!”
Hermione looked away from Ron and quickly walked over to Harry, rather flustered. Ron walked slowly behind her.
“Who does this remind you of?” Harry asked, pointing at a portrait.
Hermione stared up at the still painting. A man with haughty expression stared back at her. He had long, straight, white blonde hair and cold grey eyes. He would have been quite handsome had he not appeared so harsh.
“It’s a bloody Malfoy!” exclaimed Ron, disgustedly.
At the mention of the name, “Malfoy”, Hermione was positive she saw the paintings eyes flicker for a moment. “Did you see that?” Her heart began to race.
“Yes,” said Harry keenly, he reached up to grab the frame. He tugged forcefully from every corner, until the frame flipped open like a door. Hermione gasped and Ron swore. There, sitting on a shelf was a goblet. A goblet, that judging by the look on Harry’s face, he had seen before.
“This is it,” he said, quietly. “It’s the Cup of Hufflepuff.”
They stood there gazing at it for a full minute, as if scared it would suddenly grow fangs and leap out at them. Hermione looked to Harry. “Why don’t you take it?”
“Because I don’t think it would be that easy. There’s got to be a curse on it.”
“Maybe not,” said Ron. “I mean, there’s nothing magical really left in this place anymore. Maybe, you know, that was the whole idea. I mean, who would think of looking in a muggle museum for something of You-Know-Who’s, no matter what it used to be.”
“Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out,” said Harry. He stepped forward and tentatively put his hand forward. He softly grazed the top of the cup with his fingertips. Nothing happened and Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Harry took it cleanly off the hidden stone shelf and pushed the painting back.
Hermione watched Harry study the cup uneasily. She still had that feeling of trepidation. “Come on, Harry. Let’s get out of here.”
Harry nodded his head and carefully slid the cup into a woolen pouch. They quickly headed back down the floors and out through the kitchen window they’d come in. In their haste, they did not notice that the man in the painting, formerly guarding the horcrux, had disappeared.
(())
MISSING IN ACTION?
The Wizarding World’s hero has disappeared. Harry Potter and two of his friends went missing on Sunday morning. Potter was reported to have been staying with the Weasley family, who were not available for comment. Aurors are out in full force in search of the Boy Who Lived, and they are expecting to find him within a week.
Some are suggesting the Chosen One has left to destroy He Who Must Not Be Named, whilst others claim he has given up and gone into hiding. Story continued page. 2.
Draco raised his eyebrows at the Daily Prophet in his hands. He smiled at the idea of Potter “giving up”. Five years of riling the Gryffindor up, meant he knew more about his character than many, and Potter wouldn’t give up. Not while there was still a Mudblood to save.
He looked down at the picture accompanying the article. The caption said it had been taken the day before they had gone missing, at a wedding. Draco thought the Mudblood bore a striking resemblance to Madam Pince with her hair pinned back like that; although, she did look better than the Weasel who wore his usual expression of confusion. But Potter had quite a nice set of robes on, his eyes were cast down to the ground sheepishly, making him look quite delic-
Draco quickly threw the paper away and shook his head. He was not even going to go there. He hated Potter; he knew that to be true. And you should never be attracted to someone you hate. It goes against all the rules of reason. But then, if he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit there had been times in sixth year where he would stare absent-mindedly at Potter, wishing he weren’t a Gryffindor and an idiot and the Dark Lord’s nemesis. It was, in his opinion, a waste of man.
Draco’s thoughts were disturbed by the sounds of someone calling out in the hall. He furrowed his brow and exited the drawing room; no one was in the house but his mother and the house elves. The person calling out sounded like neither. It was unlikely to be a visitor - it was almost 3AM.
He entered the hall, but there was no one there. “Here, here! I say young man, over here!” Draco let out a little shout as he looked up at a painting that he had always thought was empty. It was now filled with a man who was unmistakably a Malfoy.
“Are you listening, young Malfoy?” he looked flustered, like he had just ran ten miles and had another ten to go.
“Um … yes.”
“You must let the Dark Lord know that the cup has been taken. Three youths have just departed with it. You must let him know, I must return before the muggles notice. Tell him, do you understand? It is awfully important.” He sounded extremely concerned about it so Draco nodded his head. “Yes, of course, I’ll let him know.”
“Good, good.” With that the man left, saying nothing more.
Draco walked back to the drawing room confused. A cup? The Dark Lord was hiding a cup? Draco sat down on the sofa, trying to decipher the message and the man, both of which where coming and going in his mind very quickly. As he was going over it in his head, the Daily Prophet picture of Potter caught his eye from the carpet where he’d cast it aside. His eyes bulged in comprehension. Three youths…
“What are you up to, Potter?”
(())
Harry was in a dense forest. The trees stood thick and tall and rich, green shrubbery surrounded him. It should have been quite beautiful, but Harry felt very claustrophobic. He was not alone though. His friends flew above him in the canopy, beckoning him to join them in the air. His enemies skittered about on the ground. He wanted to get away from them and join his friends in the sky, but for some reason his wings were not working. He was too heavy for the air, too light for the earth. He felt like crying when he heard a voice behind him.
“We do not belong with them.” It was Draco Malfoy. But then it couldn’t be? He looked different to what Harry remembered. Older, and yet more innocent.
“I want to be with my friends,” Harry found himself saying in a small voice, looking above.
“And I with mine,” said Malfoy, looking below. “But we don’t belong with them.”
“Help me reach them,” said Harry, ignoring Malfoy’s last comment and looking at him pleadingly.
“You will not be happy there.”
“Please …” A tear fell down Harry’s face, he was afraid of being alone.
“Very well.” Malfoy moved to Harry and grabbed him firmly around the waist, looking him directly in the eye. Green met grey and suddenly Harry was in the air and he could see his friends … touch them. He looked down with a smile on his face to thank Malfoy, but the blonde boy was sobbing on the ground, all alone. Harry was not happy.
“Harry! Harry! Come on! Will you get up, we need to get some breakfast.” Hermione’s crisp voice woke him from his dream. Harry opened his eyes and shook his head; he could still see Malfoy in his mind. He shook his head again.
“Are you right, mate?” Ron asked, rubbing his eyes as Hermione chose their muggle clothes for them and threw them on their beds. “Did you have another nightmare? Is it him?”
“Um …” Harry rubbed his forehead. “No, no, it wasn’t a nightmare. I’m alright.”
“Good,” said Hermione. “I’ve ordered us some breakfast. I’ll see if there are any parlors left, so get changed and be quick about it would you, I’ve got something to show you.”
Harry flopped out of bed inelegantly and pulled on the clothes Hermione had chosen for him. Jeans and a green hooded jumper. Ron yawned loudly. “I hate hotel rooms, the beds are always lumpy. Muggle or wizard.” Harry smiled and nodded his head, the image of a crying Malfoy still in the back of his mind.
Harry picked up the pouch that held the horcrux from under the bed and slipped the drawstring around his wrist. He and Ron headed down to breakfast. They found Hermione, surrounded by bacon, eggs, toast and pancakes in a small parlor. Before Harry had even started filling his plate, Hermione chucked the Daily Prophet in front of Harry. He read it with a furrowed brow.
“Oh great,” said Ron miserably next to him. “We’re marked now. None of us are going to be able to go anywhere in the wizarding world. Bloody mum, did she think we’d ran away to go on a road trip or something?”
“She was probably just worried. Besides, she might not have said anything. The Ministry could’ve found out some other way,” said Hermione.
“I guess,” sighed Ron and he began piling his plate.
“There’s an interview with Scrigmeour too,” said Hermione with a scowl in her voice. “He thinks you’ve flaked and that people need to put their faith into the Ministry instead. He’s such a fuck.”
Ron choked on his eggs and Harry sprayed orange juice across the parlor. “Hermione!” they shouted in unison. Hermione went red, but looked strangely proud.
“Gesh,” laughed Ron. “Warn us next time you plan on swearing. It’s that odd …”
Harry laughed and put the pouch on the table. Hermione stared at it apprehensively. “So what are we going to do with it?”
“I suppose we’ll have to get the soul out somehow.” Harry piled his plate with pancakes.
“How ar’ee do zat?” asked Ron, his mouth full of bacon.
“There are a few things we could do. We could use an altered Summoning Charm, or a Retracting Spell. I’m not sure what one we’ll be best. The best person to talk to would probably be your dad, Ron,” said Hermione. “He removes curses and stuff from objects all the time.”
“Well, we obviously can’t do that,” Harry pointed out.
“No, I suppose not,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “Maybe we could go to the public library in Hogsmeade?”
“Can’t do that either,” said Harry. “We’re marked, remember?”
“We could go to Hogwarts,” suggested Ron, taking a break from eating. “We could sneak in using the Marauders Map. The students aren’t going to be there for a couple of weeks yet.”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” said Harry.
“Can you not say it like I never get any good ideas?”
(())
Draco stood tall and proud. Avery to his left, Snape to his right. They stood upon the dais with his Aunt Bellatrix, Macnair and Nott senior. The rest of the Death Eaters stood amongst the crowd before them, looking at them with envy and fear.
The cave of the Dark Lord was freezing, as always, but there was something else as well. The cave tended to reflect their Lord’s feelings, and if he was reading the walls correctly, the Dark Lord was furious. The black stone surrounded them menacingly and the fire sticks on the walls sparkled treacherously.
This meeting was called to announce the next mission. There would be another meeting after that, for specifics - but Draco had a feeling they were not going to be discussing anything tonight, but listening to a rather formidable speech.
There was quiet, idle chatter in the cave, but as the back door of the dais was opened, and the great snake, Nagini, slithered out, silence instantly prevailed. Draco need only take one look at his Lord to know he had read the cave correctly. He turned to the crowd and did not look back at the unearthly creature.
Draco had intended to inform the Dark Lord of the portrait’s message after the meeting, but now he feared speaking to him in this foul mood.
“My faithful followers, I am sure, that by now you are aware that Potter has gone missing.” His voice was low and dangerous. He was worse like this than in any other instance. Worse when there was no one specific to blame, but blame and accountability he was most certainly after.
Draco held his breath.
“No doubt, some of you assume that he has simply ran in fear. This may be true. But I am almost certain he is up to something.” Everyone in the room listened intently, hoping he did not attempt to release his anger on them. “Very soon, we will be venturing out for a little entertainment … by then, I want him found. Do I make myself, perfectly clear?”
There was a bow and a murmur of understanding in the crowd. The Dark Lord remained a moment, gazing over the daily growing crowd, and silence remained. The Dark Lord turned on his heel and walked to the door. Every man and woman dropped to their knees as he left. Once the door was closed people slowly began rising.
“This won’t be easy,” said Avery quietly next to him as Snape and Nott began clearing everyone out.
“What do you mean?” asked Draco.
“Potter can hide himself a lot better on his own,” said the shrewd Avery, “than with the Ministry dancing about him.”
(())
Harry led Ron and Hermione down the long, dark passage from Honeydukes to the one-eyed witch in Hogwarts castle. It had been relatively easy to sneak into Honeydukes and hide in the back until the lolly shop closed. Harry and Ron had hid under the Invisibility Cloak and Hermione had transfigured her facial features so that she now had a much larger nose, blue eyes and blonde hair. It was a good thing that they had taken these precautions as missing posters of them lined the streets of Hogsmeade, along with the poster of known Death Eaters and other missing people. It was also a good thing that so few people left their homes nowadays. The emptiness of the village had made discretion easier.
Honeydukes had closed at six o’clock and the moment the doors were shut and the couple that owned the shop moved upstairs to their house, Harry had pulled the cloak off him and Ron, Hermione had transfigured her face back to normal and they snuck down the trap door.
They had been feeling their way through the silent tunnel for an hour when Harry finally pulled the Marauders Map out from the back of his jeans. The three dots revealing them were now on the edge of the map. They were making their way slowly closer to the school and Harry had to make sure their path, once inside the castle, was completely clear. But it was hard to concentrate now that he was so close to the place.
He both loved and hated Hogwarts now. So many wonderful things had happened there. He had made friends there, he had played Quidditch there, had his first kiss, learnt magic, found a place where he’d felt he truly belonged. But many terrible things had happened there as well. No matter how hard he tried focusing only on the good, the bad would surface anyway.
“How far are we, Harry?” Hermione asked, breathlessly behind him.
“Any moment now … Lumos!” Harry held his wand aloft and could make out the shape of the back of the painting only metres away.
“Thank Merlin,” said Ron. “My legs are cramping up.”
Harry pushed the painting forward and the small gap that they were to sneak out of flooded light into the tunnel. Harry looked at the map again to see if anyone was about. He searched the corridor they were to enter - nothing. He checked the Great Hall and the Library and the Headmaster’s Office - nothing. Only after a thorough scouring did Harry finally find life in the form of the caretaker, Mr. Filch. He was in the Astronomy Tower and didn’t appear to moving. They would have to watch out for the man’s cat, Mrs. Norris, though.
“It’s alright, there’s no one here but Filch. Not even Hagrid. You go first Hermione.”
Hermione squeezed through the portrait and Ron followed rather awkwardly after, nearly pushing the frame off its hinges. Harry bit his bottom lip. He hadn’t been to Hogwarts through the one-eyed witch for a long time. He’d gotten bigger since then and if slim Hermione and lanky Ron struggled to get through, he wasn’t sure how he was meant too. He pulled of his jumper and passed it, the map, the pouch with the cup and the Invisibility Cloak through to Ron and Hermione. “Be careful Harry,” said the latter, “don’t break the frame.”
Harry pushed his leg through first and carefully started squeezing the first half of his body out. He sucked his breath in when he heard the frame screech painfully. “You’re almost there …” said Hermione and Harry slithered the rest of himself out, falling to the floor. “You need to lay off the spinach, mate.” Ron laughed at him.
“We cannot go back that way. We’ll have to go through the other one, under the Whomping Willow,” said Hermione, handing Harry his things as they headed off down the corridor.
“We can’t,” said Harry. “Dumbledore closed it off after everything with Pettigrew. He was meant to do the one-eyed witch too but I think he put spells up instead.”
“Well, why are we alright if he put spells up?” asked Ron.
“He wouldn’t do it against us,” said Harry. “He knew we used it. He probably predicted us needing it.”
“But I mean, you can’t be selective when warding!”
“Of course you can,” said Hermione. “If you’re Dumbledore, that is.”
“Fine, whatever,” said Ron, as they approached the library entrance. “How are we going to get out then?”
“We can use one of the others - the ones Filch knows about. He doesn’t know we’re here so it should be fine,” said Harry, opening the library doors.
“Fair enough,” said Ron, shaking his head. “But why aren’t we setting off any alarms?”
“Because we’re students, as far as the castle is concerned,” said Hermione. “You’d know that if you’d read Hogwarts, A History.”
“It’s not gonna happen, Hermione.”
Harry saw Hermione roll her eyes and head off for the section on Summoning Charms. She ordered Harry to keep look out as she and Ron took notes and tried to find the appropriate spell to use to remove the seventh of a soul from the horcrux. Two very boring hours later, when the only entertainment had been the Fat Friar floating past the library clearly lost in thought, Hermione shut the books and announced them done.
“I think I’ve got it,” she declared, as they headed for the first floor Charms classroom.
“You think?” said Harry.
“I’m sure.”
They walked in silence, all lost in their own thoughts. Harry found it so odd to be in the castle when it was so quiet and lacking life and vibrancy. He longed for the past comforts that Hogwarts had once brought him - reminding him he was young and alive. Quidditch matches, skipping class with Ron, copying off Hermione, telling dirty jokes with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, getting into trouble from Snape, sucking up to McGonagall so that she let him get away with not doing his work, fighting with Malfoy …
Malfoy. At the thought of his childhood adversary, Harry remembered his dream. What did it all mean? It seemed so odd to him that he should dream of someone like Malfoy in such a vulnerable way. But then, Harry remembered the night in the North Tower. Malfoy was partly responsible for Dumbledore’s death, Harry knew that. But recollecting the look on the young Slytherin’s face, his paleness, the lack of bite to his voice … it made it hard for Harry to see him as a murderer.
He shook off his thoughts as they entered the class room. “Now, it should be the blackboard. We have to say Pessidium.” Harry folded the map up and stuffed it in the back of his jeans again.
Ron tapped his wand against the blackboard. “Pessidium!” he said, and the board seemed to dissolve away, revealing another long tunnel. “Damn it,” muttered Ron. “What is it with this castle and tunnels?” Harry shrugged.
“Where does this lead us, Harry?” Hermione asked, climbing up into the tunnel.
“Right near Hogsmeade Station, I think.”
It was three long hours of awkward hiking before they reached the end. They had dived straight down for ages and Harry was positive they had gone underground, and then they had suddenly started climbing up. Harry’s legs felt like jelly by the time they reached the pothole about two-hundred metres from the train tracks at Hogsmeade Station. They all climbed out and flopped onto the ground. It had been noon when they had apparated from Wales to the Highlands where Hogwarts resided. But now it was pitch black and stars littered the sky. They rested silently in the grass for a few minutes, listening to owls hooting to the moon when Hermione had suddenly stood up and had hoisted them to their feet.
“Here,” she declared. “We should do it here.”
“Here? But-”
“No, listen Harry; we should do this right now. Then we can go find somewhere to stay, get a good nights sleep, and go searching again tomorrow.”
Harry nodded his head with a sigh and pulled the cup out of its pouch. “Okay, what do I do?”
“Er, maybe you should let me do it, Harry. I’m more familiar with this sort of magic.”
“Okay.” Harry put the cup down on the ground and stepped back. Ron stood by his side as Hermione did a few practice waves and muttered under her breath. She swallowed in the night’s air and closed her eyes in concentration. She raised her wand and pointed to the sky. They could feel the wind pick up pace around them and whistle eerily. “Descendion!” she shouted and loud thwack of lightning instantly shot down and entered her wand. Harry and Ron took another step back. “Acendion!” Hermione pointed her now glowing wand to the ground and another bolt of lightning came up from the earth, spraying dirt everywhere. Hermione’s wand was now too bright to look directly at. She pointed it to the cup. “Barredae!”
The lightning shot out of Hermione’s wand and broke the cup in half with a sickening crack. Instantly, a foggy black cloud shot out of the cup.
“What the hell is that?” Ron shouted, still covering his ears from the sound of the lightning.
“Oh no,” said Hermione, now very pale and weak looking. The spell seemed to have taken a lot out of her. “It’s the soul! The spell only got it out of the cup! I can’t believe I didn’t think of this! Quick! Stop it!”
The black cloud was floating away quickly. “Stupefy!” Ron shouted. The cloud slowed down for a moment but a second later was moving again. They began running after it.
“Stop it!” Hermione screamed desperately. “It’ll go back to Voldemort! He’ll know what we’re doing!”
“Stupefy!” All three of them shouted in unison. The black fog stopped, but it was beginning to unfreeze itself again.
“What do we do?” Ron asked, ashen faced.
“We have to kill it!” Hermione and Ron looked to Harry. He hesitated for only a moment before raising his wand, thinking of all the hate and rage he had for Voldemort. This was always going to happen ... eventually. Harry’s eyes sparked with power. “Avada Kedavra!”
… to be continued.
(())
Author’s Note: “Lledrithio Caer” means plainly in Welsh, “Haunted Castle” … I think.
Thanks so much to Kristin (a.k.a. AbundantFear) for her magnificent beta job. Some people think gravity makes the world go ‘round, but really it is our betas.
raining_slash
Next Chapter
THE CROOKED HEART
“Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.” - Napoleon Bonaparte
Chapter Three: The Cup of Hufflepuff
Spinner’s End was a small neighbourhood. It was filled with diminutive, low maintenance homes that lacked in both class and classy owners. The dirty bricked houses sported leaks, cracks and rats. Their owners were traditionally, not much better than their fellow rodent inhabitants. The houses were formerly owned by the government, and the government used to place ex-convicts and the scummiest of the scummiest unemployed into this neighborhood. As a result, even years after the government stopped this exercise, a stigma had developed and it would not be shaken.
For these reasons, many thought Severus Snape mad for purchasing his home in such a muggle neighborhood. Aside from the obvious reasons of hygiene; why should this man, who believes in pure-bloods and the desecration of all things un-magical, want to live in the heart of the enemy’s strong hold? It made sense to no one but the man himself.
“I don’t understand it at all,” said a whimpering Peter Pettigrew - or simply ‘Wormtail’ - who was fidgeting in Snape’s front room, trying to find a comfortable position on the uncomfortable couch. “Why can we not move closer to the Dark Lord? Surely we would be safer?”
Snape rolled his eyes and drawled unpleasantly, “I beg you not to try and understand the reasoning of an intellect, Wormtail. You’ll only give yourself a headache.”
Wormtail frowned and wished he could retort, but he knew better. Snape was the Dark Lord’s favourite, not to mention, much more powerful than he was. But even though there was a mutual detestation for each other; Wormtail would prefer to talk to the man than sit there bored, doing nothing but trying to block out the sounds of the muggle drug hoarders next door. Or worse than nothing, be locked up in the basement - as Snape had taken to doing to him when the Dark Lord or important Death Eaters visited.
Wormtail had given up his resentment for not being more in the Dark Lord’s favor. In fact, over time, he had found that he did not envy Snape or the young Malfoy or Avery their positions very much at all. More responsibility meant he would have more control over others, that was true. And he would also be looked upon in a better light by his master. But when missions failed, all blame was placed on the leaders and they took on all punishments. Failures tended to come thick and fast for Wormtail. So only on occasions such as this, when it became clear to even his simple mind that he was not serving just the Dark Lord, but his fellow minions as well, did strands of jealousy seep into his mind.
Wormtail fiddled with his robe collar and looked away from his reluctant companion, wondering how he had ended up in muggle dump like this, with the wallpaper wilting away and every floor board creaking in umbrage at having to remain solid for its occupants. Snape seemed to neither notice nor care for his roommate’s restlessness and remained immersed in a Potions book written entirely in Latin. Wormtail did not know Latin. James, Sirius and Remus had though - the latter being particularly good. This thought reminded Wormtail of a certain ploy he had been using of late, to attract Snape’s attention. It often resulted in him being locked up in the basement, but at least it provided him with some form of entertainment, if only for a few minutes.
“Jam- Potter was meant to teach me Latin. Never got around to it - thought teaching me to fly was more important,” Wormtail said, attempting to sound nonchalant and remove the smirk from his voice.
Snape looked up at Wormtail irritably. “I would ask you not to talk about James Potter in my presence. Ever.”
“Why not?” Wormtail asked, feigning a sulk and keeping his eyes on the dusty, wooden floor.
Snape rolled his eyes again and gave Wormtail a look of deepest disdain, and bit of disbelief at someone being so stupid. “Because he’s dead, and I like it that way. I don’t want to think about him … living.”
Wormtail was about to question Snape further when there was a tetchy knock at the door. “Get the door, Wormtail,” Snape said quickly, cutting off any further conversation. Wormtail got to his feet crossly and went to the door, his fun now over. On his way, he threw a chunk of wood onto the fire. Snape liked a cold house - a Slytherin cliché not missed on even Wormtail who regularly attempted to berate him for it.
“Who is it?” Wormtail asked at the door.
“It’s Bellatrix, you insufferable rodent, let me in before the muggles see!” Bellatrix’s incensed voice bit through the air. Wormtail looked over his shoulder at Snape for permission to open the door - Bellatrix Lestrange was not one of Snape’s preferred people - and Snape nodded his head in confirmation.
Bellatrix barged in, clearly in a bad mood, and looked around the front room with her usual sneer. She did not meet Snape’s eyes though. Wormtail sidled next to the bookcase, where he tended to be forgotten, and therefore, discovered more news of his lord. Wormtail was not invited to inner circle meetings anymore, he hadn’t been for almost a year, and Snape never divulged any information.
“Well Severus, are you going to offer me a beverage?” she asked, her hands on hips.
“No, that would invite you to stay longer than I wish you to,” Snape said coolly. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.
“Very well, I’ll get straight to it. I need information-”
Snape raised his hand impatiently for her to stop. “I will tell you nothing of the next mission, and will only discuss with you that which you already know. So don’t bother.” Bellatrix gave Snape a look that would send any other man quivering, but Snape had never been intimidated by Bellatrix. Even though, he perhaps, should have been. She could do a lot of damage when her mind and twisted heart were truly in it.
“Do you not trust me, Snape? I think that quite ridiculous. I merely wish to be prepared.”
Snape sneered nastily at her. “You are here because you wish to pick a fight with me out of anger and frustration at the Dark Lord. You have no one but yourself to blame for losing his favor, and I have far too much to do tonight to waste time bickering with you. Now, if you could kindly leave…”
Bellatrix paced back and forth angrily, Wormtail could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. “I deserve to know! I have done everything he has asked of me, and more! I even told him of Draco! I betrayed my nephew’s confidence for him and I still get nothing!”
Snape had sat through the outburst aloofly, but at the mention of Draco, he snapped his head up. “What about Draco?”
“Has Narcissa not called on you?” Bellatrix snorted and said viciously, “I thought she’d go whining to you straight away.”
“Please explain,” Snape asked, appearing indifferent. “I cannot afford another interruption tonight.”
Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and smirked. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
Snape’s lip curled. “Fine,” he muttered.
Bellatrix began talking quickly and animatedly and Wormtail thought it amusing that even she could not help but gossip - an unfortunate flaw of most women. “When I was teaching Draco to fight Veritaserum, he let out a couple of things he perhaps shouldn’t of. Though, I suppose he could not help it,” she said, not appearing the least bit concerned for her nephew, despite her earlier sentiments of breaking his confidence. “So I decided to report to the Dark Lord right away instead of waiting ‘til tomorrow night. Did you now he was gay? Lucius will be most embarrassed. But that wasn’t even the worst of it,” she said with that mad gleam in her eye leaning over the couch Wormtail had formerly been sitting on. “He said he didn’t want to kill Dumbledore! Pretty much admitted to not having it in him. The Dark Lord was very displeased.”
Snape stood up suddenly, looking as incensed as Bellatrix had on arrival. “You are a fool! Draco is barely hanging on as-” Snape quickly stopped himself. “Get out of my house,” he ordered coldly.
“Oh no you don’t, we made a deal,” said Bellatrix, her hands back on her hips. “And what do you mean about Draco?”
“Wormtail! Show her out!” Snape turned his back on her and Wormtail opened the door and attempted to bustle her out. She slapped him hard on the arm.
“Don’t touch me, you rat! You are not kicking me-”
“Out!” Snape bellowed and Bellatrix was suddenly lifted off the ground and she flew out the room, the door slamming loudly and powerfully in her wake, causing the dust on the roof to shake itself off on to their heads.
Snape slumped back down to his chair, and after a moment, continued with his book. He appeared just as before, but for the obvious crease of anger in his brow. Wormtail raised his eyebrows and looked out the front room window. He could make out the small figure of Bellatrix shaking twigs off her robes and swearing loudly.
He looked at his companion in amazement. Snape rarely showed that much emotion. Wormtail headed silently for the basement. The dark cold would be better than being the object of Snape’s anger release.
Snape’s hand shook as he turned the pages of his book.
(())
“Wow,” said Hermione her mouth hanging open slightly. “I’ve always wanted to come here. I can’t believe it, it’s magnificent.”
Ron and Harry came up either side of her. “I don’t see what’s so special about it,” said Ron. “Looks like a regular castle to me.”
Hermione looked extremely put out and she looked up at the great castle in front of her with disbelief. They were standing out the front of the east wing, gazing at the rather intimidating grey stone, in search of an entrance. The Welsh night sky was full of stars and the quarter moon glowed almost seductively down at them. Hermione wished that they could have come here under different circumstances.
“A regular castle? A regular castle?” Hermione exclaimed. “This is the Lledrithio Caer! This was the home of the ancient Welsh sorceress, Aaecien! She killed thousands in these walls; no wonder Voldemort chose it to hide part of his soul.”
Ron shivered at hearing the name but otherwise ignored it. “Well she’s dead and this castle is a muggle museum now, so shall we not live in the past?” Ron stated, moving towards a glassless window. Hermione scowled and put her hand on her hips as Harry tried hard to stifle his snickers. Hermione did not like arguing with Ron. It was almost the very opposite of things she wanted to do with him, but somehow, they just couldn’t help themselves. An old habit is hard to break.
“Fine,” she said crossly, following him.
They scrambled rather awkwardly through the window and landed in what appeared to be a kitchen of sorts. There was a red rope separating the old fire place, the pots and the stone benches, so that the muggle tourists would not damage the ancient items. The kitchen had an odd smell of lead and freshly cut grass, reminding Hermione of a cave she had once visited with her parents in France.
“Well where should we start?” Ron asked, as they all silently moved onto the other side of the rope.
“Hmm …” Hermione thought for a moment. “We don’t know exactly what we’re looking for - only that a horcrux might be here.”
“It’ll be something rich, old, ornamental,” said Harry quietly, lighting his wand.
Hermione peered at his face, now illuminated. He appeared so much older than he had six months ago. And his eyes … they sported the look of someone who had seen too much. They looked tortured. Hermione sighed to herself and said, “Well if the Horcrux is something ornamental, it won’t be in the kitchen. This is a big castle, we better get moving before daylight, otherwise we’ll run into the muggle tourists.”
“Yeah, plus the Swansea Pub had a great lamb shanks soup, they stop serving after midnight,” stated Ron. Hermione bit her tongue and plunged forward, leading Ron and Harry into the hall.
They searched the dining room, the main hall, the drawing room, two bedrooms, and could find nothing that appeared to be harboring a soul. Hermione had picked up several objects, a vase, a music box and a crystal cat, but Harry took one look at all of them and shook his head. Hermione was getting frustrated and the castle was freezing. She had a horrible feeling being inside it, like she could feel all the death that this place had once invited.
They moved out of a third bedroom, still unsuccessful, and made for the third floor gallery. The gallery was as large as the great hall in Hogwarts, and was lighted magnificently by the moon that seeped in through the leadlight windows.
“This place is great,” said Hermione in awe. She followed the red rope which led to a small plaque that the muggles had written on, describing each room. This one said:
The Great Gallery
This room is perhaps the most mysterious of all Lledrithio Caer’s rooms. The paintings that fill every space on the walls are very grand, but even the greatest experts are unable to name even one of the artists. It is as if they come from another world. Many that venture to the Swansea countryside to view these works swear they feel the paintings watching them almost as intently as they watch the paintings.
“Silly muggles,” said Ron, almost affectionately behind Hermione’s shoulder. She turned to face him and looked him fixedly in the eye. He was very close and stared back, giving her a little smile. She felt herself going red, but was unable to look away. She was about to say something when Harry’s voice snapped them out of it.
“Hey! Look at this bloke!”
Hermione looked away from Ron and quickly walked over to Harry, rather flustered. Ron walked slowly behind her.
“Who does this remind you of?” Harry asked, pointing at a portrait.
Hermione stared up at the still painting. A man with haughty expression stared back at her. He had long, straight, white blonde hair and cold grey eyes. He would have been quite handsome had he not appeared so harsh.
“It’s a bloody Malfoy!” exclaimed Ron, disgustedly.
At the mention of the name, “Malfoy”, Hermione was positive she saw the paintings eyes flicker for a moment. “Did you see that?” Her heart began to race.
“Yes,” said Harry keenly, he reached up to grab the frame. He tugged forcefully from every corner, until the frame flipped open like a door. Hermione gasped and Ron swore. There, sitting on a shelf was a goblet. A goblet, that judging by the look on Harry’s face, he had seen before.
“This is it,” he said, quietly. “It’s the Cup of Hufflepuff.”
They stood there gazing at it for a full minute, as if scared it would suddenly grow fangs and leap out at them. Hermione looked to Harry. “Why don’t you take it?”
“Because I don’t think it would be that easy. There’s got to be a curse on it.”
“Maybe not,” said Ron. “I mean, there’s nothing magical really left in this place anymore. Maybe, you know, that was the whole idea. I mean, who would think of looking in a muggle museum for something of You-Know-Who’s, no matter what it used to be.”
“Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out,” said Harry. He stepped forward and tentatively put his hand forward. He softly grazed the top of the cup with his fingertips. Nothing happened and Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Harry took it cleanly off the hidden stone shelf and pushed the painting back.
Hermione watched Harry study the cup uneasily. She still had that feeling of trepidation. “Come on, Harry. Let’s get out of here.”
Harry nodded his head and carefully slid the cup into a woolen pouch. They quickly headed back down the floors and out through the kitchen window they’d come in. In their haste, they did not notice that the man in the painting, formerly guarding the horcrux, had disappeared.
(())
MISSING IN ACTION?
The Wizarding World’s hero has disappeared. Harry Potter and two of his friends went missing on Sunday morning. Potter was reported to have been staying with the Weasley family, who were not available for comment. Aurors are out in full force in search of the Boy Who Lived, and they are expecting to find him within a week.
Some are suggesting the Chosen One has left to destroy He Who Must Not Be Named, whilst others claim he has given up and gone into hiding. Story continued page. 2.
Draco raised his eyebrows at the Daily Prophet in his hands. He smiled at the idea of Potter “giving up”. Five years of riling the Gryffindor up, meant he knew more about his character than many, and Potter wouldn’t give up. Not while there was still a Mudblood to save.
He looked down at the picture accompanying the article. The caption said it had been taken the day before they had gone missing, at a wedding. Draco thought the Mudblood bore a striking resemblance to Madam Pince with her hair pinned back like that; although, she did look better than the Weasel who wore his usual expression of confusion. But Potter had quite a nice set of robes on, his eyes were cast down to the ground sheepishly, making him look quite delic-
Draco quickly threw the paper away and shook his head. He was not even going to go there. He hated Potter; he knew that to be true. And you should never be attracted to someone you hate. It goes against all the rules of reason. But then, if he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit there had been times in sixth year where he would stare absent-mindedly at Potter, wishing he weren’t a Gryffindor and an idiot and the Dark Lord’s nemesis. It was, in his opinion, a waste of man.
Draco’s thoughts were disturbed by the sounds of someone calling out in the hall. He furrowed his brow and exited the drawing room; no one was in the house but his mother and the house elves. The person calling out sounded like neither. It was unlikely to be a visitor - it was almost 3AM.
He entered the hall, but there was no one there. “Here, here! I say young man, over here!” Draco let out a little shout as he looked up at a painting that he had always thought was empty. It was now filled with a man who was unmistakably a Malfoy.
“Are you listening, young Malfoy?” he looked flustered, like he had just ran ten miles and had another ten to go.
“Um … yes.”
“You must let the Dark Lord know that the cup has been taken. Three youths have just departed with it. You must let him know, I must return before the muggles notice. Tell him, do you understand? It is awfully important.” He sounded extremely concerned about it so Draco nodded his head. “Yes, of course, I’ll let him know.”
“Good, good.” With that the man left, saying nothing more.
Draco walked back to the drawing room confused. A cup? The Dark Lord was hiding a cup? Draco sat down on the sofa, trying to decipher the message and the man, both of which where coming and going in his mind very quickly. As he was going over it in his head, the Daily Prophet picture of Potter caught his eye from the carpet where he’d cast it aside. His eyes bulged in comprehension. Three youths…
“What are you up to, Potter?”
(())
Harry was in a dense forest. The trees stood thick and tall and rich, green shrubbery surrounded him. It should have been quite beautiful, but Harry felt very claustrophobic. He was not alone though. His friends flew above him in the canopy, beckoning him to join them in the air. His enemies skittered about on the ground. He wanted to get away from them and join his friends in the sky, but for some reason his wings were not working. He was too heavy for the air, too light for the earth. He felt like crying when he heard a voice behind him.
“We do not belong with them.” It was Draco Malfoy. But then it couldn’t be? He looked different to what Harry remembered. Older, and yet more innocent.
“I want to be with my friends,” Harry found himself saying in a small voice, looking above.
“And I with mine,” said Malfoy, looking below. “But we don’t belong with them.”
“Help me reach them,” said Harry, ignoring Malfoy’s last comment and looking at him pleadingly.
“You will not be happy there.”
“Please …” A tear fell down Harry’s face, he was afraid of being alone.
“Very well.” Malfoy moved to Harry and grabbed him firmly around the waist, looking him directly in the eye. Green met grey and suddenly Harry was in the air and he could see his friends … touch them. He looked down with a smile on his face to thank Malfoy, but the blonde boy was sobbing on the ground, all alone. Harry was not happy.
“Harry! Harry! Come on! Will you get up, we need to get some breakfast.” Hermione’s crisp voice woke him from his dream. Harry opened his eyes and shook his head; he could still see Malfoy in his mind. He shook his head again.
“Are you right, mate?” Ron asked, rubbing his eyes as Hermione chose their muggle clothes for them and threw them on their beds. “Did you have another nightmare? Is it him?”
“Um …” Harry rubbed his forehead. “No, no, it wasn’t a nightmare. I’m alright.”
“Good,” said Hermione. “I’ve ordered us some breakfast. I’ll see if there are any parlors left, so get changed and be quick about it would you, I’ve got something to show you.”
Harry flopped out of bed inelegantly and pulled on the clothes Hermione had chosen for him. Jeans and a green hooded jumper. Ron yawned loudly. “I hate hotel rooms, the beds are always lumpy. Muggle or wizard.” Harry smiled and nodded his head, the image of a crying Malfoy still in the back of his mind.
Harry picked up the pouch that held the horcrux from under the bed and slipped the drawstring around his wrist. He and Ron headed down to breakfast. They found Hermione, surrounded by bacon, eggs, toast and pancakes in a small parlor. Before Harry had even started filling his plate, Hermione chucked the Daily Prophet in front of Harry. He read it with a furrowed brow.
“Oh great,” said Ron miserably next to him. “We’re marked now. None of us are going to be able to go anywhere in the wizarding world. Bloody mum, did she think we’d ran away to go on a road trip or something?”
“She was probably just worried. Besides, she might not have said anything. The Ministry could’ve found out some other way,” said Hermione.
“I guess,” sighed Ron and he began piling his plate.
“There’s an interview with Scrigmeour too,” said Hermione with a scowl in her voice. “He thinks you’ve flaked and that people need to put their faith into the Ministry instead. He’s such a fuck.”
Ron choked on his eggs and Harry sprayed orange juice across the parlor. “Hermione!” they shouted in unison. Hermione went red, but looked strangely proud.
“Gesh,” laughed Ron. “Warn us next time you plan on swearing. It’s that odd …”
Harry laughed and put the pouch on the table. Hermione stared at it apprehensively. “So what are we going to do with it?”
“I suppose we’ll have to get the soul out somehow.” Harry piled his plate with pancakes.
“How ar’ee do zat?” asked Ron, his mouth full of bacon.
“There are a few things we could do. We could use an altered Summoning Charm, or a Retracting Spell. I’m not sure what one we’ll be best. The best person to talk to would probably be your dad, Ron,” said Hermione. “He removes curses and stuff from objects all the time.”
“Well, we obviously can’t do that,” Harry pointed out.
“No, I suppose not,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “Maybe we could go to the public library in Hogsmeade?”
“Can’t do that either,” said Harry. “We’re marked, remember?”
“We could go to Hogwarts,” suggested Ron, taking a break from eating. “We could sneak in using the Marauders Map. The students aren’t going to be there for a couple of weeks yet.”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” said Harry.
“Can you not say it like I never get any good ideas?”
(())
Draco stood tall and proud. Avery to his left, Snape to his right. They stood upon the dais with his Aunt Bellatrix, Macnair and Nott senior. The rest of the Death Eaters stood amongst the crowd before them, looking at them with envy and fear.
The cave of the Dark Lord was freezing, as always, but there was something else as well. The cave tended to reflect their Lord’s feelings, and if he was reading the walls correctly, the Dark Lord was furious. The black stone surrounded them menacingly and the fire sticks on the walls sparkled treacherously.
This meeting was called to announce the next mission. There would be another meeting after that, for specifics - but Draco had a feeling they were not going to be discussing anything tonight, but listening to a rather formidable speech.
There was quiet, idle chatter in the cave, but as the back door of the dais was opened, and the great snake, Nagini, slithered out, silence instantly prevailed. Draco need only take one look at his Lord to know he had read the cave correctly. He turned to the crowd and did not look back at the unearthly creature.
Draco had intended to inform the Dark Lord of the portrait’s message after the meeting, but now he feared speaking to him in this foul mood.
“My faithful followers, I am sure, that by now you are aware that Potter has gone missing.” His voice was low and dangerous. He was worse like this than in any other instance. Worse when there was no one specific to blame, but blame and accountability he was most certainly after.
Draco held his breath.
“No doubt, some of you assume that he has simply ran in fear. This may be true. But I am almost certain he is up to something.” Everyone in the room listened intently, hoping he did not attempt to release his anger on them. “Very soon, we will be venturing out for a little entertainment … by then, I want him found. Do I make myself, perfectly clear?”
There was a bow and a murmur of understanding in the crowd. The Dark Lord remained a moment, gazing over the daily growing crowd, and silence remained. The Dark Lord turned on his heel and walked to the door. Every man and woman dropped to their knees as he left. Once the door was closed people slowly began rising.
“This won’t be easy,” said Avery quietly next to him as Snape and Nott began clearing everyone out.
“What do you mean?” asked Draco.
“Potter can hide himself a lot better on his own,” said the shrewd Avery, “than with the Ministry dancing about him.”
(())
Harry led Ron and Hermione down the long, dark passage from Honeydukes to the one-eyed witch in Hogwarts castle. It had been relatively easy to sneak into Honeydukes and hide in the back until the lolly shop closed. Harry and Ron had hid under the Invisibility Cloak and Hermione had transfigured her facial features so that she now had a much larger nose, blue eyes and blonde hair. It was a good thing that they had taken these precautions as missing posters of them lined the streets of Hogsmeade, along with the poster of known Death Eaters and other missing people. It was also a good thing that so few people left their homes nowadays. The emptiness of the village had made discretion easier.
Honeydukes had closed at six o’clock and the moment the doors were shut and the couple that owned the shop moved upstairs to their house, Harry had pulled the cloak off him and Ron, Hermione had transfigured her face back to normal and they snuck down the trap door.
They had been feeling their way through the silent tunnel for an hour when Harry finally pulled the Marauders Map out from the back of his jeans. The three dots revealing them were now on the edge of the map. They were making their way slowly closer to the school and Harry had to make sure their path, once inside the castle, was completely clear. But it was hard to concentrate now that he was so close to the place.
He both loved and hated Hogwarts now. So many wonderful things had happened there. He had made friends there, he had played Quidditch there, had his first kiss, learnt magic, found a place where he’d felt he truly belonged. But many terrible things had happened there as well. No matter how hard he tried focusing only on the good, the bad would surface anyway.
“How far are we, Harry?” Hermione asked, breathlessly behind him.
“Any moment now … Lumos!” Harry held his wand aloft and could make out the shape of the back of the painting only metres away.
“Thank Merlin,” said Ron. “My legs are cramping up.”
Harry pushed the painting forward and the small gap that they were to sneak out of flooded light into the tunnel. Harry looked at the map again to see if anyone was about. He searched the corridor they were to enter - nothing. He checked the Great Hall and the Library and the Headmaster’s Office - nothing. Only after a thorough scouring did Harry finally find life in the form of the caretaker, Mr. Filch. He was in the Astronomy Tower and didn’t appear to moving. They would have to watch out for the man’s cat, Mrs. Norris, though.
“It’s alright, there’s no one here but Filch. Not even Hagrid. You go first Hermione.”
Hermione squeezed through the portrait and Ron followed rather awkwardly after, nearly pushing the frame off its hinges. Harry bit his bottom lip. He hadn’t been to Hogwarts through the one-eyed witch for a long time. He’d gotten bigger since then and if slim Hermione and lanky Ron struggled to get through, he wasn’t sure how he was meant too. He pulled of his jumper and passed it, the map, the pouch with the cup and the Invisibility Cloak through to Ron and Hermione. “Be careful Harry,” said the latter, “don’t break the frame.”
Harry pushed his leg through first and carefully started squeezing the first half of his body out. He sucked his breath in when he heard the frame screech painfully. “You’re almost there …” said Hermione and Harry slithered the rest of himself out, falling to the floor. “You need to lay off the spinach, mate.” Ron laughed at him.
“We cannot go back that way. We’ll have to go through the other one, under the Whomping Willow,” said Hermione, handing Harry his things as they headed off down the corridor.
“We can’t,” said Harry. “Dumbledore closed it off after everything with Pettigrew. He was meant to do the one-eyed witch too but I think he put spells up instead.”
“Well, why are we alright if he put spells up?” asked Ron.
“He wouldn’t do it against us,” said Harry. “He knew we used it. He probably predicted us needing it.”
“But I mean, you can’t be selective when warding!”
“Of course you can,” said Hermione. “If you’re Dumbledore, that is.”
“Fine, whatever,” said Ron, as they approached the library entrance. “How are we going to get out then?”
“We can use one of the others - the ones Filch knows about. He doesn’t know we’re here so it should be fine,” said Harry, opening the library doors.
“Fair enough,” said Ron, shaking his head. “But why aren’t we setting off any alarms?”
“Because we’re students, as far as the castle is concerned,” said Hermione. “You’d know that if you’d read Hogwarts, A History.”
“It’s not gonna happen, Hermione.”
Harry saw Hermione roll her eyes and head off for the section on Summoning Charms. She ordered Harry to keep look out as she and Ron took notes and tried to find the appropriate spell to use to remove the seventh of a soul from the horcrux. Two very boring hours later, when the only entertainment had been the Fat Friar floating past the library clearly lost in thought, Hermione shut the books and announced them done.
“I think I’ve got it,” she declared, as they headed for the first floor Charms classroom.
“You think?” said Harry.
“I’m sure.”
They walked in silence, all lost in their own thoughts. Harry found it so odd to be in the castle when it was so quiet and lacking life and vibrancy. He longed for the past comforts that Hogwarts had once brought him - reminding him he was young and alive. Quidditch matches, skipping class with Ron, copying off Hermione, telling dirty jokes with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, getting into trouble from Snape, sucking up to McGonagall so that she let him get away with not doing his work, fighting with Malfoy …
Malfoy. At the thought of his childhood adversary, Harry remembered his dream. What did it all mean? It seemed so odd to him that he should dream of someone like Malfoy in such a vulnerable way. But then, Harry remembered the night in the North Tower. Malfoy was partly responsible for Dumbledore’s death, Harry knew that. But recollecting the look on the young Slytherin’s face, his paleness, the lack of bite to his voice … it made it hard for Harry to see him as a murderer.
He shook off his thoughts as they entered the class room. “Now, it should be the blackboard. We have to say Pessidium.” Harry folded the map up and stuffed it in the back of his jeans again.
Ron tapped his wand against the blackboard. “Pessidium!” he said, and the board seemed to dissolve away, revealing another long tunnel. “Damn it,” muttered Ron. “What is it with this castle and tunnels?” Harry shrugged.
“Where does this lead us, Harry?” Hermione asked, climbing up into the tunnel.
“Right near Hogsmeade Station, I think.”
It was three long hours of awkward hiking before they reached the end. They had dived straight down for ages and Harry was positive they had gone underground, and then they had suddenly started climbing up. Harry’s legs felt like jelly by the time they reached the pothole about two-hundred metres from the train tracks at Hogsmeade Station. They all climbed out and flopped onto the ground. It had been noon when they had apparated from Wales to the Highlands where Hogwarts resided. But now it was pitch black and stars littered the sky. They rested silently in the grass for a few minutes, listening to owls hooting to the moon when Hermione had suddenly stood up and had hoisted them to their feet.
“Here,” she declared. “We should do it here.”
“Here? But-”
“No, listen Harry; we should do this right now. Then we can go find somewhere to stay, get a good nights sleep, and go searching again tomorrow.”
Harry nodded his head with a sigh and pulled the cup out of its pouch. “Okay, what do I do?”
“Er, maybe you should let me do it, Harry. I’m more familiar with this sort of magic.”
“Okay.” Harry put the cup down on the ground and stepped back. Ron stood by his side as Hermione did a few practice waves and muttered under her breath. She swallowed in the night’s air and closed her eyes in concentration. She raised her wand and pointed to the sky. They could feel the wind pick up pace around them and whistle eerily. “Descendion!” she shouted and loud thwack of lightning instantly shot down and entered her wand. Harry and Ron took another step back. “Acendion!” Hermione pointed her now glowing wand to the ground and another bolt of lightning came up from the earth, spraying dirt everywhere. Hermione’s wand was now too bright to look directly at. She pointed it to the cup. “Barredae!”
The lightning shot out of Hermione’s wand and broke the cup in half with a sickening crack. Instantly, a foggy black cloud shot out of the cup.
“What the hell is that?” Ron shouted, still covering his ears from the sound of the lightning.
“Oh no,” said Hermione, now very pale and weak looking. The spell seemed to have taken a lot out of her. “It’s the soul! The spell only got it out of the cup! I can’t believe I didn’t think of this! Quick! Stop it!”
The black cloud was floating away quickly. “Stupefy!” Ron shouted. The cloud slowed down for a moment but a second later was moving again. They began running after it.
“Stop it!” Hermione screamed desperately. “It’ll go back to Voldemort! He’ll know what we’re doing!”
“Stupefy!” All three of them shouted in unison. The black fog stopped, but it was beginning to unfreeze itself again.
“What do we do?” Ron asked, ashen faced.
“We have to kill it!” Hermione and Ron looked to Harry. He hesitated for only a moment before raising his wand, thinking of all the hate and rage he had for Voldemort. This was always going to happen ... eventually. Harry’s eyes sparked with power. “Avada Kedavra!”
… to be continued.
(())
Author’s Note: “Lledrithio Caer” means plainly in Welsh, “Haunted Castle” … I think.
Thanks so much to Kristin (a.k.a. AbundantFear) for her magnificent beta job. Some people think gravity makes the world go ‘round, but really it is our betas.
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