Unofficial Portkey Archive

I am not J. K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic or anybody else who makes money off of the Harry Potter franchise.

Big time apologies for how late this chapter is. I could make excuses but I won't. I'll try to update every ten days or so from now on.

Chapter 9: Where There's a Quill, There's a Quay

"This isn't working, is it?" Hermione asked in a disappointed voice. She was sprawled out on the opposite side of Sirius' old bed from where Harry was lying, examining him curiously as she chewed on her bottom lip.

"It's not your fault," Harry assured her wearily. "You're doing everything just fine. Brilliant, really. It's me. No matter what we try, I just can't seem to do it. Not when it really matters anyway."

Hermione frowned at him. "I think you're putting too much pressure on yourself. You should try to relax. There are some visualization exercises you could use, if you feel like you need them."

Harry smirked playfully. "Believe me, Hermione, you give me more than enough to focus on. I don't have to use my imagination." Hermione gave him a proud little half-smile at that remark. "Maybe I just can't. D'you think that's possible?"

"They really should teach a course at Hogwarts that deals with this," Hermione mused in an attempt to avoid answering his question. "Even if every student didn't become an expert at it, the practice sessions themselves are marvelous stress relievers. It's a great way to unwind after a long day of studying."

Harry let out a long groan of frustration. "We're just going to have to face facts, Hermione. These occlumency lessons are a complete wash and it's because I'm not powerful enough to keep Lord Voldemort out of my mind. That's probably why Dumbledore told me not to worry about learning it anymore."

"Yes, but that was when you had stopped having the dreams," Hermione pointed out worriedly. "Now that you're having them again, I'm sure he would want you to do everything possible…"

"But these aren't the same kind of dreams I was having before, are they?" Harry asked rhetorically. "I don't think Voldemort's trying to trick me into doing something stupid by showing me how he learned all about Salazar Slytherin from some sarcastic old bloke who owns a book store."

"He could still be manipulating you," Hermione insisted, "even if it's only subconsciously. Or he could be trying to bore you to death with that rubbish about Slytherin. The point is that he's getting inside your head. There's no way to know for sure why he's doing it."

Harry grinned at Hermione's obvious contempt for what Septimus Prince had taught Lord Voldemort about Salazar Slytherin. While Hermione had been intrigued, if skeptical, about Prince's contention that Slytherin had been a half-blood Spanish exile sold into slavery in Egypt by Berber pirates before becoming the most famous dark wizard in England's history, Harry had been less than impressed. None of it seemed very relevant to the here and now.

"Do you want to give it another go?" Hermione asked him with an anxious expression on her face. When Harry nodded, she sat up on the bed, tucking her knees beneath her and placing her hands on his arms gently. "Remember to clear your mind of all thoughts. Make eye contact." Her eyes met his with an intensity that sent his heart fluttering. "As soon as you feel me inside, try and push me out of your mind."

Harry suppressed a sigh. He had been trying to push Hermione out of his mind ever since he had realized how deep his feelings ran for her at Bill and Fleur's wedding. Living together at Grimmauld Place wasn't making it easy. It was one thing to stay away from a girl who he fancied; Harry had had experience with that, both with Cho and Ginny. It was quite another to live in the same house with the girl he loved, to say nothing of the fact that they were sharing the same bed, all while ignoring his growing feelings for her. In a way it was torturous, although there were definitely enjoyable moments. Waking up next to Hermione, watching her sleep…

As Harry's own mental defenses were relaxed, he was completely unprepared for Hermione's assault on his mind. Memories played out before him… Harry retrieving Neville's Rememberall when Malfoy threw it out of reach… summoning his Firebolt during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament… dancing with Hermione at the wedding, gazing into her eyes, completely lost in the moment…

Hermione's eyes were now blazing at him. "You're not even trying!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "If that's all the effort you're going to put into this, we might as well give up now."

"I'm sorry," Harry replied defensively. "I was…distracted. It won't happen again, I swear."

"Alright," she conceded as her eyes locked on his own again. "Just please concentrate on me this time, and not on whatever was distracting you."

Despite not knowing how that would be possible, Harry sat up slightly to face Hermione. "Legilimens," she said softly. Almost instantaneously, he could feel Hermione inside of his head, probing around. As a memory of a miserable Christmas spent with the Dursleys began to flicker across his consciousness, Harry began to push back with his mind, deciding to test Hermione's resolve as well as his own mental strength.

Suddenly, Harry found himself tugged into another memory, one that was not immediately familiar to him. Hermione and Ginny were sitting together in their pajamas on a four-post bed in what he assumed must be the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, laughing and whispering to each other. 'I think I'd remember this one if it were mine,' Harry quickly decided. 'This must be one of Hermione's memories.' Based on how young the two girls looked, he guessed that it was likely from around sometime in his fourth year.

"You don't…" Ginny began nervously, suddenly looking as though she was about to spit up slugs. "You don't really think that Harry fancies Cho, do you?"

Hermione raised one eyebrow pointedly. "You saw the way he was looking at her. What do you think?" Ginny's shoulders slumped in defeat. "He hasn't said much to me about her, but I don't think he would. Boys can be kind of secretive about those sorts of things."

'Boys?' Harry scoffed. 'Try figuring out if a girl you fancy fancies you back sometime and you'll see how good girls are at keeping secrets.'

"He'll never notice me, will he?" Ginny asked Hermione, her face hanging sadly. "Not when there are other, prettier girls like Cho around."

"I'm more concerned about Harry's survival than his love life right now, Ginny." Hermione let out a deep breath and examined a photograph of Harry, Ron and herself pensively. "We've been working so hard, but I still don't think he's ready for the first task."

"Harry will be fine," Ginny assured her casually. "You know he will. No matter what kind of trouble he gets into, he always manages to scrape by in the end."

"He is very brave," Hermione assessed, "and he's been very lucky, too. I just don't know if bravery and luck is going to be enough this time." Her eyes grew stormy. "Ron certainly isn't helping things, either. I don't know why he has to be so stubborn about everything."

Ginny shrugged. "He's a Weasley. Stubbornness runs in the family."

Hermione examined Ginny with a thoughtful glint in her eye. "You know, Ginny, Harry could really use another friend right now. If you wanted to get closer to him, maybe get him to see you in a different light…"

"I can't," Ginny cut her off in frustration. "I can't be his friend when I want to be more. I couldn't stand it." She shot Hermione a pleading look. "It would kill me to be so close to him and not be able to show him how I really feel. You understand, don't you?"

Before Hermione could answer, Harry was forcibly removed from her mind, as though a giant hand had grabbed him and pulled him out. "What did you do?" Hermione demanded, her voice outraged.

Harry shook his head in bewilderment. "I dunno. I was just trying to push you out of my mind and I…"

"You had no right to see that!" Hermione said in a horrified voice.

"I didn't mean to," Harry explained. "It just happened." Hermione turned away from him and rose from the bed abruptly. "I don't see what the big deal is," Harry said indignantly. "You've seen loads of my memories, and a lot of them were ones I'd rather no one else ever saw."

"Ginny said those things to me in confidence," Hermione retorted angrily. "Remember when you found out what happened to Neville's parents, but kept it a secret out of respect for his feelings?" Harry nodded. "Well, what if I'd learned about it by reading your mind? Wouldn't you feel awful?"

Harry thought about it for a minute. "I guess I would." He frowned bemusedly as he studied her from behind (perhaps a bit more appreciatively than he should have). "But I already knew Ginny had a crush on me. I don't understand why this is making you so upset."

"Never mind," Hermione answered him flatly. "We need to go. The visiting hours at St. Mungo's are shorter on Sundays and we'll have to stop at Gringotts first to make arrangements for the viewing of the..." As she turned and got a good look at his hurt expression, hers softened. "I know that you didn't do it on purpose, Harry. I guess I just feel a little violated." As she sat down on the bed, Harry moved to sit beside her. "It's like nothing's safe anymore." Hermione put her hands together on her lap. "I used to think that I was safe at Hogwarts… or at the Burrow. I used to feel at home there." Harry put his right hand on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Now the only time I feel safe is when I'm with you." Harry's heart swelled as he realized that he felt the same way about her, and that the feeling wasn't new. How long had he loved Hermione without realizing it? "I don't want to lose that, Harry. It means everything to me."

"You won't," Harry promised. Hermione's eyes were radiating with warmth and affection, so much so that his stomach was doing somersaults. He would do anything to make sure that she stayed safe and happy, even if it meant that he could never love her the way he wanted to. Even if it meant seeing her with someone else.

***

Harry and Hermione apparated just across the street from the large, abandoned brick building that appeared to be a department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd. In reality, it was the entrance to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the largest health care facility in wizarding England. After informing the proper dummy that they were there to see Ron Weasley, they stepped through the glass and into a reception area crowded with people.

Making the trip to St. Mungo's to see Ron was always a bit depressing. To make matters worse, their visit to Gringotts hadn't exactly been productive. Although Harry had taken the opportunity to withdraw several hundred more galleons from his vault, the goblin in charge of the probate accounts turned out to be on vacation. Dumbledore's pensieve will would have to wait a few days. Harry's innocent remark of "I didn't know goblins took vacations" launched Hermione into a five minute tirade on the meager reforms that followed the goblin labor revolts of the late 1940s. Harry didn't know what was worse: enduring the rant itself or realizing that he now found it kind of cute when Hermione was fired up about something.

Hermione's inquiry about Ron to a friendly blonde woman sitting at the reception desk brought Harry out of his own thoughts. "Oh, dear. It looks like he's been moved to the closed wards," the woman informed them both sympathetically. "I could have someone show you the way if you…"

"That won't be necessary," Harry informed her with an air of impatience. "We know the way." Harry and Hermione shared a worried look. What did it mean that Ron had been moved to a closed ward? Did the healers no longer expect him to recover?

The two of them walked up the same rickety staircase they had ascended along with Ron and Ginny in fifth year and tried their best to ignore the various comments made by the portraits of healers past that lined the walls. As Harry and Hermione neared the proper door, they heard a familiar, bombastic voice coming from inside. "It was hard keeping all of the fans at bay. I've always been very popular in Ireland, you see. They send me the nicest letters. I really wish I could remember ever having been there…"

"That sounds like Gilderoy Lockhart," Hermione whispered as a frown formed on her face.

"Yeah, it does," Harry agreed. Their concerned expressions mirrored each other; if Gilderoy Lockhart was still here after four years with no noticeable improvement, what did that say about Ron's chances?

Harry and Hermione entered the closed ward quietly, hoping to attract as little attention to themselves as possible. "Of course, the chief difficulty in dealing with the Bandon Banshee was that awful wailing…" Lockhart continued with gusto. He stood in the middle of the room reading aloud from a book, a pair of lilac-rimmed reading glasses gradually slipping down his nose.

"Where's Ron? Do you see him?" Harry breathed in Hermione's ear. She shook her head slightly in reply. Without making a sound, they began to search the room for their best friend.

"And then it dawned on me," Lockhart enthused to the otherwise deathly silent room. "Ear muffs. Common, ordinary ear muffs. Just like the ones you'd use if you were handling baby mandrakes. For you see, my dear readers, sometimes the simplest solution is also the best one." Unfortunately for Harry, Gilderoy Lockhart chose that moment to look up from his book and take notice of him. "You there. How would you like to play the part of the Bandon Banshee? Re-enactments really help bring the book to life and frankly the audience does appear to be a tad bored." In fact, the 'audience' was largely asleep, but that did not seem to bother Lockhart very much.

Harry had had quite enough of playing the part of a creature vanquished by Gilderoy Lockhart during his second year Defense Against the Dark Arts class. "Er, no thanks. I was just looking for someone."

"You know," Lockhart continued as though he had not heard Harry, "they told me that reading my own books would be therapeutic and by Merlin's wand I think they're right. I can scarcely believe all the things I've done! I can hardly wait to remember it all." Harry thought that it would be impolite to point out to Lockhart that he hadn't actually done any of the things he claimed to have accomplished in his books, as he had no memory of his past as a self-aggrandizing fraud. "The other patients seem to enjoy my readings as well. Except for that fellow," he said, pointing to a figure in the corner behind a curtain. "Turns a bit green every time I try to read a passage from one of my books to him." Gilderoy scratched his chin. "You know, come to think of it, he did seem familiar."

"Ron!" Hermione called out from beside his bed, startling more than a few patients from their slumber. Harry walked briskly across the room to join her, standing slightly behind Hermione to watch an unconscious Ron over her shoulder.

"Good, you're all awake," Gilderoy Lockhart declared happily. "I'll start over from the beginning. Chapter 1: Conquering the Carrigaline Changeling."

Harry cast a silencing charm on the curtain surrounding Ron's bed as the two friends looked their best mate over somberly. "He seems the same, doesn't he?" Hermione asked him in an attempt to make small talk. "So peaceful. Kind of thin, though, don't you think?" She shot Harry a fretful look. "Maybe they're not feeding him enough."

"I'm sure the healers are taking good care of him," Harry said, although he did not know for certain whether or not this was true. A hot guilty feeling rose from his stomach up into his throat. He was still holding himself responsible for what had happened to his best mate, but that wasn't the only thing eating away at his conscience. Now he also fancied Ron's girlfriend.

"Things should have been different between us," Hermione admitted softly. Without thinking, Harry placed his hand on Hermione's shoulder supportively. "I wish that…" Her voice trailed off weakly.

"You wish that you and Ron had been on better terms before it happened," Harry supplied helpfully.

"I wish that I had broken up with him," Hermione explained in a very small voice. "Isn't that terrible? But at least then things wouldn't be so…unresolved." She picked up Ron's hand, her fingertips brushing his as she spoke. "I had the speech halfway written. It was all about how we were too different and the timing was all wrong and how I really thought he was a great guy who would make another witch very happy someday, but that we just weren't right for each other. If I had had more time, maybe…" Hermione collapsed into a chair next to Ron's bed. "How did I let things get so out of control? It wasn't supposed to happen this way."

Harry examined her face closely. "What do you mean by that?"

Hermione did not look him in the eye as she replied, "It's nothing. I'm just rambling." Harry frowned. She was holding something back from him, of that he was sure. But what was it? "Would you mind leaving me alone with Ron for awhile?" Hermione asked sorrowfully. Her eyes seemed to be keeping back tears only by sheer force of will. His heart ached at the sight.

"Of course," Harry agreed. "Take all the time you need."

Harry's feet carried him down the stairs two at a time, making each step creak noisily in protest. He soon found himself standing near the reception desk, about to ask a question of the same blonde witch that had directed him to the closed wards, when he saw the very person he had wanted to inquire about standing just outside another patient's room, examining a lengthy roll of parchment. It was Edwin Wolfram, the head of the Accidental Spell Damage ward.

As Harry marched across the hallway, Healer Wolfram spotted him first and gave him a warm greeting. "Hello, Mr. Potter. So good to see you again… and without your bandages. I take it that your burns have healed up?"

Harry wasn't much in the mood for idle chitchat. "I'm doing just fine, thank you. I wanted to talk to you about my friend, Ron Weasley. About the reason that you haven't been able to bring him out of a coma." The slight man with the horn-rimmed glasses and large mustache looked confused. "Is it money?"

Wolfram's eyes became thin slits. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Potter. I don't believe that I quite understand what you're asking me."

A surge of anger filled him. "Look, I know the Weasleys can't afford to pay you very much. I can. If there's some more expensive treatment available, I'll pay for it. Whatever the cost."

"I'll consider that offer a sincerely desperate attempt to get your friend back and not an insult to my professional integrity," Wolfram sniffed haughtily. "I'm sorry to say, however, that money is not a factor. I've never seen the healers of my ward work as hard as they have on the Weasley/Snape case. There is simply no precedent for it. Both wizards should be up and walking about, yet they're completely non-responsive." The healer tugged at his long mustache. "The Ministry has been on my back about it as well, you know. They're anxious to put Snape on trial."

"So am I," muttered Harry. Even thinking about Snape seemed to make his blood boil and freeze all at once.

"They're considering trying him in absentia," Wolfram added thoughtfully. "I doubt they will, though. They'll most likely want to be able to throw him straight into Azkaban after the trial. Assuming he's found guilty, of course," he added as an afterthought. "Now if that's all you wanted to discuss with me, Mr. Potter, I do have other patients waiting." Harry watched Healer Wolfram go without saying another word.

"It was a nice offer," a young man's voice said from behind him. Harry turned around to see the face of Charlie Weasley scowling at him slightly. "I'm sure you meant well, but it was a little insulting, and not just to the healers of St. Mungo's. We Weasleys may not be rich, but we take care of our own." Charlie thought about that for a moment. "Well, except for Percy. The git."

"Really?" Harry asked skeptically as he moved a few steps toward Charlie. "And what part of 'taking care of your own' involves selling Fred and George out to Rita Skeeter? Not to mention me." Charlie winced. "You could have at least given us the head's up. Maybe we could have come up with some kind of beetle repellant or something." Harry thought back to the mysterious explosion at the wedding. "How is George?"

"Fine," Charlie answered tersely. "It was nothing that some well-administered healing charms and a few practical jokes on the healers couldn't cure. Just the usual night out with the Weasley twins." Harry smiled slightly at that. "I wouldn't be too hard on Bill if I were you, Harry," Charlie advised. "Or Mum and Dad. Times have been hard for members of the Order of the Phoenix, and for those who work for the Ministry in particular."

"Come off it. It can't be any worse than it was when Fudge was in power," Harry scoffed as Charlie led him away from a cluster of gossiping young witches. "Can it?" he added uncertainly.

Charlie looked dour. "At least when Fudge was Minister, we had Dumbledore. And Dumbledore's money, which was no small sum. Now we're leaderless and poor."

"What about McGonagall?" Harry demanded. "Or Lupin or Moody? They'd all make great leaders for the Order."

Charlie shook his head. "Minerva has her hands full replacing Dumbledore at Hogwarts. She'd be a basket case if she had to take over the Order, too. Sadly, Remus is a werewolf, which still makes him a suspicious character in a lot of people's eyes. As for Mad-Eye Moody, he'd be a perfect candidate, if it weren't for two things: one, he was easily replaced by a Death Eater a few years ago and two, nobody could tell the difference. A little scary, that." Charlie stooped slightly and leaned his head close to Harry's. "If you want to know the truth of the matter, Harry, and I'll deny this if you speak a word of it to anyone else…you're the one most people want to head the Order of the Phoenix."

"Me?!" Harry exclaimed, drawing irritated glares from a few nearby healers and a loud shushing from Charlie Weasley. "But…Charlie…I'm barely seventeen. I haven't any experience leading anything."

"Most of the members I talk to don't care very much about that," Charlie confided in a whisper. "What matters to them is that you've faced You-Know-Who so many times and lived to tell about it. You were the one that Dumbledore thought could defeat him. That means a lot more to people than your age or inexperience."

"They want the Chosen One," Harry pointed out with just a hint of bitterness in his voice. "The boy wizard with the miraculous ability to vanquish Voldemort once and for all. The only problem is that I'm not sure he exists, except in people's minds."

"Winning the minds of the public is important in any war, Harry," Charlie replied, his patience wearing thin. "In this war, it's crucial. How the wizarding public sees you could very well determine who wins."

"So that's how it is, then," Harry spat angrily. "It's not just the Ministry that wants me as their poster boy, the Order does, too." His hands balled themselves into fists. "You know, Dumbledore actually gave me something important to do. Something vital to defeating Voldemort."

"Something that you won't tell anyone else about," Charlie continued in an aggravated tone of voice. "Look, I can't tell you how to live your life, Harry. Just know that there are other people in this fight with you. People you shouldn't turn your back on." Charlie reached into the front pocket of his robes, withdrew a gilded coin and flipped it to Harry. "Here. This will glow the next time the Order schedules a meeting." Harry examined the coin, which bore the image of a phoenix on one side but was blank on the other. "The time and date of it will appear on the reverse. We're kind of between headquarters right now, so the location's still up in the air. But we'll get that information to you somehow."

Harry's expression was slightly befuddled. "Between headquarters?"

"We were using Hogwarts," Charlie explained as the two of them began walking back toward the closed wards. "But we can't any more; not with all of the students coming back. McGonagall thinks depriving us of our meeting place was half the reason Scrimgeour ordered Hogwarts re-opened." As they began to walk up the stairs, Charlie gave him a look he couldn't read. "You're not going back, are you?" Harry shook his head no. "Living the dream, eh? Good for you." Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What? You thought I was going to give you the standard 'finish school, get good grades' speech?" He shrugged. "Like I said, Harry, it's your life. Personally, I think you've earned the right to make your own choices." Charlie opened the door to the closed ward and made a sour face as he saw Gilderoy Lockhart mimicking a sword fight with a coat rack. "And if you choose to skip school so that you can do something incredibly dangerous, all the while living with my brother's girlfriend, who am I to judge?"

Harry wasn't quite sure how to take that. "Er, thanks, Charlie. I appreciate your support."

"No problem," Charlie replied with a smirk.

As the tall redhead walked over to Ron's bedside, Hermione gave Harry a puzzled look. "What was that about?" she asked curiously.

"Nothing, really," Harry answered shortly. Hermione's disbelieving glare made him elaborate. "I'll tell you about it later." Harry gave Hermione a questioning glance. "What's that in your hand?"

"Oh," Hermione replied with a slight blush. "It's a Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper. Mrs. Longbottom gave it to me." She pointed to Alice Longbottom, who was caring for a large purple and green plant sitting on her dresser only a few beds away. "I would have just thrown it away, but I suspect Neville likes to keep them."

"Yeah," Harry said, thinking back to their awkward encounter with Neville and his parents in their fifth year. "I think he does, too." Harry swallowed nervously. Bellatrix Lestrange had driven the Longbottoms to madness with the Cruciatus Curse and turned Neville's life upside down forever. It made him wonder: what kind of terrible curse had Snape used on Ron? What had it done to him? How long would it take his best mate to recover from it? And when he did wake up, what would he be like?

***

"Recognize him?" Hermione asked Harry as she slammed a thick tome down on the desk in front of him. He was sitting in the master's study at Grimmauld Place, dutifully thumbing through the autobiography of an eighteenth century dark wizard named Coriolanus Prescott, a notorious madman who had killed hundreds of muggles and was one of the world's foremost experts on horcruxes. Despite all of that, however, he was a dreadfully boring writer, and Hermione's interruption was welcomed. Her fingernail was resting on a photograph of a middle-aged man with untamed black hair and a wispy beard in tattered tan dress robes.

"That's Septimus Prince," Harry replied with mild enthusiasm. "The bloke from my dreams." In the picture, Prince was running his fingers through his hair in a feeble attempt to tame it, all the while seeming quite agitated. "He looks different, though. Younger. And kind of familiar…" Harry could almost place where he had seen those facial features before, but couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Where did you find this?" he asked Hermione.

"Leach's Guide to Wizarding Collectibles, the 1965 edition. This is Prince's obituary. Apparently he was quite the collector of ancient artifacts. He was even rumored to have acquired part of Hepzibah Smith's estate after she died." Hermione's finger moved down the page as she spoke. "But this is what I really found interesting."

"Prince is survived by his daughter, Eileen Snape nee Prince, her husband Tobias and their son, Severus," Harry read aloud. "Please direct all inquiries about the future of the estate to…" His voice trailed off disinterestedly. "So Prince was Snape's grandfather?"

"It looks that way," Hermione replied with a nod. "I suppose it's not really that surprising, is it? Becoming a Death Eater does tend to run in the family. Look at the Crabbes, the Goyles, the Malfoys…"

Harry shook his head, his eyes still staring at the Snape-like face in the picture. "Septimus Prince wasn't a Death Eater. Not really." Hermione looked at him strangely. "Don't ask me how I know. It's just the impression that I get from the dreams."

Hermione didn't appear satisfied with that explanation, but seemed unwilling to press the issue. "Death Eater or no, I don't think it's coincidence that Septimus Prince, Hepzibah Smith and Voldemort are all connected. And I think what connects them all is Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup."

Harry frowned at her in incomprehension. "How do you reckon?"

Harry could almost see the gears turning inside Hermione's mind. "All this time, we've been assuming that when the locket and the cup disappeared it was because Voldemort stole them and turned them into horcruxes. But what if someone else stole them first?"

"Prince, you mean?" Harry asked simply.

"Yes," Hermione responded with a vigorous nod. "From the description in the article, he comes off as an unscrupulous fortune hunter, out for whatever he could get his hands on. I wouldn't have put it past him to have stolen the items he couldn't afford to buy from Smith's collection."

Harry looked thoughtful. "So if Septimus Prince took Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup and Voldemort made them into horcruxes…"

"Then Prince must have known what Voldemort was doing," Hermione finished for him. "He may even have been his accomplice in hiding the horcruxes."

"But how exactly does that help us?" Harry asked in frustration. "It's not like Prince can tell us where to look. The man's been dead for over thirty years!"

"It's not much," Hermione admitted reluctantly. "But at least it does give us another avenue for our research."

Harry nodded his head in agreement. Idly, he wondered when he had begun to consider having something else to research a good thing. After thinking it over for a moment, he decided it was probably around the same time he had started to fall for Hermione.

"It says here that Septimus Prince was the librarian at Durmstrang for about ten years," Hermione noted thoughtfully as she continued to look over the obituary. "Maybe we should ask Viktor about him. He might…"

"No!" Harry exclaimed without thinking. Hermione shot him a bewildered look. 'Brilliant, Potter,' Harry thought to himself. 'So much for making Hermione happy, even if she wants to be with someone else.' In a panic, Harry hastily attempted to cover himself. "Something. He might know something. About Septimus Prince. Brilliant idea, Hermione." Harry desperately wanted to kick something.

"Maybe not," Hermione hedged uncertainly. "Prince would have been there long before Viktor was and…" They were interrupted suddenly by a loud buzzing sound that filled the room. Harry's eyes quickly found the map of England hanging from the wall and saw that the green dot indicating Moorefield's position was blinking. "He's set off one of the tracing charms. If I'm not mistaken, that's the one for…" Hermione looked dumbfounded. "He wouldn't be stupid enough to use the Floo Network, would he?" Harry shrugged. From all they had seen, Moorefield didn't appear to be the steadiest broom in the Quidditch supply store. "Come on."

Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and led him down the stairs, past a visibly startled Kreacher and into the living room. "I've charmed Grimmauld's fireplace so that it routes all of Moorefield's communications by Floo here as well." The two of them collapsed in front of the chimney, resting on their elbows and knees and straining their ears to listen in.

"Yeah, the old place in Bristol, I remember," Moorefield's scratchy, slurred voice came floating softly out of the cold ashes and soot. "Wait, let me write that down." Frustratingly, he didn't repeat aloud what he was writing down. "Sure thing. I'll have the package ready for you tonight." Harry and Hermione shared a look of intrigue. "No, nine's no good for me. Too early. How about midnight?"

***

A late summer breeze wafted in from the Avon, making the invisibility cloak flap slightly over them as Harry and Hermione walked along the river. "Are you sure that we're in the right place?" Harry asked as he did his best to keep them both invisible to onlookers by pulling the cloak against their bodies tightly while still holding onto his lit wand. "This doesn't look like a spot where two wizards would meet. There are too many muggles around," he finished in a whisper.

Hermione, meanwhile, was doing her best to read the map that she'd charmed to track Moorefield. "We're on Harbour Way now," she said with a look of concentration on her face. "That means that this should be Canons Road." Hermione pointed to a street just in front of them. "And there's Moorefield," she said conversationally, nodding her head in the Death Eater's direction, as though pointing out a local curiosity to a tourist. "Looks like the right place to me."

As they crept quietly behind him, Moorefield shuffled down the drab, gray streets of Bristol, only occasionally stopping to remember a bit more of the tune he was whistling. Harry and Hermione followed him into a large dilapidated building where old, rotting crates were lined in rows along the walls and rusty chains hung from the ceiling. The place smelled of dead fish and stale ocean water.

"432 Canons Road," Moorefield said aloud, apparently talking to himself. "Or was it 234?" He sat down on a nearby crate to think the matter over. "I can't see a thing with this blasted mask on. Hold on a mo."

For the first time, Moorefield's voice sounded different to Harry, perhaps even a bit familiar. As he pried the mask from his face (it took a minute or so, as it was once again on wrong), Harry moved to get a closer look. "What are you doing?" Hermione asked in a frantic whisper.

Harry's eyes narrowed as he examined the face of the man that they had been tracking for weeks. "Getting answers," he said softly. Leaving the safety of the cloak despite Hermione's pleading whisper of his name, he walked up to the unmasked man with his wand drawn and a menacing expression etched on his face. "Hello, Mundungus."

With his mask gone and the cloak no longer hiding his features, Mundungus Fletcher looked up at Harry with a startled expression on his face. "Harry, izzat you?" He squinted and looked Harry over curiously. "Blimey. You've grown a bit, haven't you?"

Harry stared at Mundungus Fletcher with a mix of confusion, anger and disgust in his eyes. "You're Moorefield? You're…you're a Death Eater?"

"Come on, Harry," Mundungus replied with a hardy laugh. "You know that I'm no Death Eater. Whatever would make you think…?" He looked down at his clothing, as though he were seeing himself for the first time. "Oh, right. The outfit. Yeah. I guess that would make you think I'm a Death Eater. But…" he began in a tone of voice that said he was about to give Harry some sage advice, "I'm not." Mundungus gave Harry a sly wink, as though it were all a big joke. "It's a disguise, you see."

"It's more than just the outfit," Hermione interjected as she moved closer to Harry, her voice outraged and her wand pointed in his direction. "You were there with Snape during the raid on the Quibbler. You watched him attack Ron!"

"Not really much of an attack, was it? And a bloody poor excuse for a duel, too. I buggered that one up, I think." Mundungus gave them both a look of regret. "But it was all part of the plan. Brilliant plan. Dumbledore came up with it. Or Snape. Can't remember which, but it was genius." The word 'genius' was slurred so badly that Harry could hardly make it out.

"What was the plan?" Harry asked as he tried to ignore the strong smell of firewhiskey coming from Mundungus' breath.

"Can't remember," he answered honestly. "I's a really good plan, though. Complicated. I think there were charts."

Hermione frowned deeply. She looked like she wanted to believe his story, even though it didn't seem to make much sense. "Why did you steal Ravenclaw's quill?"

Mundungus Fletcher's entire face brightened. "That part I remember. Dumbledore said if anything happened to Snape I had to take the quill and wait for further instruc... instruc…orders."

"You do know that Dumbledore's…dead, don't you?" Harry asked him carefully. Mundungus nodded. "Well, then, I guess you also know that Snape was the one who murdered him."

Harry and Hermione both instinctively flinched as Mundungus Fletcher began laughing hysterically. Once he calmed down a bit, he said, "You can't murder a wizard like Dumbledore, can you? He had to want to die." Harry's jaw clenched as Mundungus continued. "Blokes like me and Snape didn't follow Dumbledore out of the goodness of our hearts, Harry. We followed him because he was powerful. We followed him because we knew he was going to win… and he still is, even if he won't live to see it happen."

"I was there," Harry exclaimed, his anger and sadness making his voice sound a bit crazed. "I saw Snape kill him. He didn't want it, he didn't…" But a memory came back to Harry, a memory of Dumbledore saying 'Please' just before Snape killed him. It gave him pause.

"Your drunkenness seems to be clearing up," Hermione said as she looked Fletcher over suspiciously. "And just who exactly are you supposed to be meeting here?"

"Dunno," Mundungus said with a slight shrug. "Someone who knew the password Dumbledore gave me and how to conta…get in touch with me. Somebody else who's in on the plan. Somebody who wants this quill." He patted the Reach For Something Strongbox lovingly.

"We need you to give that quill to us," Harry said slowly. "It's important."

Mundungus shook his head. "That isn't the plan and Dumbledore's plan is everything." He muttered something incoherent and then continued, "Have to protect the quill. Snape said so himself."

Hermione was beside herself. "Snape wants you to protect the quill because he's working for Voldemort." Mundungus shook his head violently as he withdrew from them slightly. "He's a Death Eater!"

"Snape's not a Death Eater," Fletcher countered petulantly. "Well, alright, the Dark Mark on his arm, I suppose technically he is a Death Eater, but he's not working for Vol…You-Know-Who. I'd bet my life on it."

"You already have," Harry said under his breath.

"Listen," Mundungus said in a stage whisper. "Someone's coming through that door at midnight. Whoever it is is the person that Dumbledore wanted me to give the quill to. I'll wager a good bit of coin that it's someone else from the Order of the Phoenix. Now you can wait for 'im like good little children, or…" The door Mundungus Fletcher was pointing at suddenly creaked open. Through an unspoken agreement, Harry and Hermione withdrew behind a tall stack of old crates as Harry once again threw the invisibility cloak over their heads, anxiously waiting to see what would happen.

"Wait for him to take the quill out of the box," Harry ordered in a faint whisper. "Then we'll deal with whoever that is." With a nod of his head, he indicated a slight figure in flowing dark robes that was now approaching Mundungus Fletcher.

"What if it's really someone from the Order?" Hermione asked. "What if Mundungus was telling the truth?" Harry gave Hermione a look of disbelief before the two of them turned to watch the black robed figure talking to Mundungus.

"Do you have the package?" a haughty, aristocratic woman's voice asked. As her hood slipped a bit, Harry could just make out her pointed chin and a wisp of blonde hair in the light of Mundungus Fletcher's wand.

"That's no member of the Order. That's Narcissa Malfoy," Harry exclaimed in outrage. He began to leave the cloak and attack her, but Hermione's hand on his arm held him back.

"After he gives her the quill," she mouthed. After a moment of thinking it over, Harry nodded and once again moved to stand beside her underneath the cloak.

Mundungus Fletcher put his hand into the Reach For Something Strongbox and pulled out Ravenclaw's quill. "Now as to the issue of remunera…remune…payment…"

"Of course," Narcissa said with a wicked smile as Harry and Hermione quickly moved to close the gap between the four of them while keeping the invisibility cloak in place. "Avada kedavra!"

Before anyone could do anything to stop her, the familiar green light streaked through the air and Mundungus Fletcher slumped to the floor, dead. Narcissa stooped to grab the quill from Fletcher's hand, but Harry had his wand pointed at it first. "Accio Ravenclaw's qui…"

"Expelliarmus!" Narcissa cried out and Harry's wand flew from his hand before he could summon the horcrux, landing on the other side of the crate Mundungus had been sitting on.
Hermione aimed a stunner at Narcissa Malfoy's retreating form, the horcrux now clutched firmly in her bony white hand. It missed by a few centimeters and Narcissa was now only a short distance away from the rear door. She fired another disarming spell blindly as she neared the exit, hoping to give herself cover for her escape. The spell missed both Harry and Hermione, but shattered a crate just over Hermione's head, spraying debris around the room. Splintered pieces of wood rained on Hermione's head and shoulders and she ducked instinctively just as Narcissa Malfoy's hand grabbed the door handle.

Harry did not know if apparition was possible while carrying a horcrux, but he guessed that he would find out soon enough if Narcissa made it through that door. It was then that he took notice of a worn, patched up net hanging just above the door, held in place by only a few thin cords. "Diffindo," Harry called out, gesturing with his hand as he felt a surge of magical power rush through his body. The netting fell swiftly, completely covering Narcissa Malfoy.

Before Narcissa react, Hermione had risen to her feet and pointed her wand at Mrs. Malfoy. "Petrificus totalus," she said, her voice shaky but determined. Narcissa Malfoy sat frozen in place, an outraged scowl permanently etched on her face.

Harry walked slowly over to Hermione's side. They were both still in shock over what had happened. As Harry neared her, he longed to touch her face, to make sure that she was truly alright. He stopped himself just before he caressed her, his hands pushing back strands of curly brown hair that had fallen to brush her cheek. Hermione reached out to hold him and Harry felt a rush of warmth fill his body as she flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

With his wand now in hand, Harry pointed it at the horcrux imprisoned in Narcissa Malfoy's frozen fingers. "Accio Ravenclaw's quill," he said triumphantly and watched with satisfaction as the bright blue feather flew into his hand. Hermione looked up at him, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears of worry and sorrow.

"How did you do that?" she asked him breathlessly, still clutching him with all of her might.

"I used the summoning charm," Harry explained with a look of confusion on his face. "You taught it to me, remember? Although I was beginning to think that it didn't work on this bloody quill…"

Hermione shook her head dismissively. "No, not that." Her eyes shone with a combination of awe, fear and affection. "You did wandless magic, Harry."

"Yeah, I guess I did," Harry admitted modestly. "I didn't even really think about it. Narcissa was getting away and I just felt something come alive inside of me…"

"We'll have to work on it when we get back to Grimmauld," Hermione said excitedly, as ideas were already spinning around in her mind. "This is huge, Harry. This could be the key to defeating Voldemort. The very thing that gives you the edge." She beamed at him. "Oh Harry, I'm so proud of you."

As she once again enveloped him in a hug, pressing her face perilously close to his own in the process, Harry tried very hard to resist the urge to kiss her. He might very well have failed in this Herculean effort had the door not opened behind them, making them jump apart slightly. "I certainly hope I haven't interrupted anything," a baritone voice called out from across the building.

His face eerily illuminated in the darkness by his lit wand, Commodus Brinecove looked more or less the same as he had at Bill and Fleur's wedding, his drawn face offset by a cheery smile. "Professor Brinecove," Hermione said, her tone flabbergasted. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," Brinecove replied simply. "Well, not here. Obviously. I have a flat a few blocks down."

"And you were just out for a little midnight stroll?" Harry asked sarcastically, still a little peeved about being interrupted.

"I have wards set up that detect the use of Unforgiveables," Professor Brinecove explained. He began to walk around the building with an air of an investigator, his illuminated wand first hovering over the dead body of Mundungus Fletcher and then the petrified Narcissa Malfoy. "Now…would someone like to tell me exactly what happened here?" he asked, as though he were already in the classroom, lecturing to Hogwarts students. "No, let me guess. You found out that something unsavory was going to happen between this lowlife," he indicated Mundungus Fletcher with a flick of his wand, "and the ever lovely Mrs. Malfoy over there and decided to stop it yourselves, rather than go to the proper authorities. Am I right?"

Without pausing, he said, "Of course I am." Brinecove let out a deep sigh and ran his fingers through his silver and black hair. "Whatever am I to do with you two crazy kids? You just can't seem to keep yourselves out of trouble." He seemed to think it over for a moment, as Harry and Hermione were both too stunned to speak. "Tell you what. I'll let it slide this time. But make sure this never happens again. Understand?" Harry and Hermione both nodded their heads dumbly. "Good," Brinecove said, his smile bright and chipper again. "Run along now. You'll want to get a good night's sleep. Your first day of Hogwarts is in the morning. The start of your seventh year. NEWTs, graduation, it's all so very exciting." Harry stood there scratching his head as he watched Brinecove wax enthusiastic about Hogwarts. "Well, go on. I'll take care of everything here."

Harry and Hermione reluctantly began to walk away from the new DADA Professor, still more than a little confused as to what exactly had transpired here, when Brinecove suddenly began chuckling to himself. "I can't believe that I nearly forgot. Where is my mind today?" He pointed his wand at a startled Harry. "Accio Ravenclaw's quill." The two teenagers watched in horror as Professor Brinecove grabbed the quill from the air and pocketed it. "On behalf of Headmistress McGonagall, I would like to thank you for retrieving such a valuable piece of school property. I'm sure you'll get a special commendation for it." Hermione looked faint. Harry wanted to scream. "See you in class!"

I've noticed that there were several questions about Hermione's black dress she wore to the wedding as to why she couldn't just change the color of it magically. My take on this is that if witches and wizards could just magically change their clothing a) there wouldn't be much of a clothing industry in the wizarding world and b) Ron would have done something to magically change his dress robes for the Yule Ball. Of course, I could always be wrong.

ITL

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