Pieces of a Soul

Chapter Nine: The First Recovery

"Stop simpering, Bella," Voldemort said, his voice dangerously calm. "The Dark Lord owes you no explanation of his actions, though as you are one of my more devoted followers, I will allow you only this much: the state in which you found me was no accident. Lord Voldemort makes no mistakes."

"Do not think that I once doubted your wisdom," Bellatrix Lestrange answered, her voice lower and more carefully modulated than usual. "I, like many in the presence of greatness, only wish to learn more of your - "

"That will do," Voldemort cut her off, though he sounded rather amused by her blatant attempts to curry favor.

Bellatrix remained quiet, her head bowed.

"Lucius," Voldemort snapped as he dusted off his robes and returned to his chair. "Bring me Wormtail."

Lucius hid his displeasure at being assigned a task so menial that even the lowest of their servants could have performed it. After all, if Lord Voldemort wished it, who was he to disobey?

"Come," he said curtly when he reached Pettigrew's tiny, cold stone room. "You are called."

Wormtail's eyes widened in fear and in shock, for it had been less than a week since he had been tortured so mercilessly, a week in which he had been left severely alone and had had to resort to foraging to get food after the other Death Eaters had either gone for the day or had retired to their rooms in the stronghold.

"D-did he say what he wanted?" he squeaked. "L-lord Vold-de-demort?" He could not keep the stammer out of his voice. Not for the first or the last time, he wondered piteously how to get himself out of the predicament he was in. To run would mean certain death, and to betray the Dark Lord was unthinkable.

"Does it matter what he requires, fool?" Lucius Malfoy spat contemptuously.

"Of c-course n-not," Pettigrew chattered as he gingerly donned his black Death Eater robes over his tender and injured skin. Everyone knew that the subjects of Lord Voldemort's displeasure were allowed no potion or charm to offer respite from the pain, and Pettigrew had been no different.

"You're disgusting," Malfoy commented as they proceeded slowly up the stone passageway to Voldemort's chambers.

Pettigrew didn't reply, for deep in his miserable heart he knew it was the truth.

"Wormtail," Voldemort greeted him smoothly as they pushed open the heavy door and announced their presence. Bellatrix stood next to him, a strangely triumphant expression on her face as she watched them come in. Peter Pettigrew was far too overwrought with fear to notice it, but Lucius Malfoy wondered uneasily how much he had missed while he had waited for the blundering fool next to him to make himself ready.

Pettigrew stepped forward with an admirable attempt to appear confident, and immediately fell to his knees on the cold stone floor, willing himself not to flinch at the pain that radiated through his lower extremities as he did so.

"I have a new assignment for you, Wormtail," Voldemort said, "and I would very much hope, for your sake, that you perform this task, shall we say, more diligently than you did the last one?"

"I live to serve you, M-master," Pettigrew said.

"You serve me because you have nowhere else to go, Wormtail," Voldemort replied coldly. "Do not attempt to conceal your thoughts from Lord Voldemort. He knows the true loyalty of all of his followers."

Was Malfoy just imagining it, or did Lord Voldemort's eyes flick ever-so-subtly towards him when he said that?

"Wh-what would you have me do, m-my Lord?" Pettigrew asked tremulously.

"You are now assigned to Hogwarts," Voldemort told him. "Your assignment is to report to me on Narcissa Malfoy's movements and conversations, no matter how insignificant they may seem to one as uninformed as yourself. I am especially interested in any information passed from any source to Harry Potter or his little friends. Snape will assist you in this assignment, but make no mistake, Wormtail. The responsibility is yours alone, and I will be most...displeased if you should fail me again."

Pettigrew gulped and nodded his head.

"Go," Voldemort told him abruptly, ending the interview and turning his back on Pettigrew, Malfoy and Lestrange.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

Sighing softly, Ginny used a clean cotton cloth to dab Burn Relief Potion onto Harry's naked chest. It had been over twenty-four hours since he had destroyed Slytherin's locket, and he had shown no sign of waking or awareness.

Lupin and Ginny kept watch with unceasing vigilance, usually joined by Ron and Hermione. It was impossible for any of them to stay in the room for long without their gaze becoming focused on the ugly black wound on Harry's chest, filled with re-hardened gold from the melted locket. It showed no sign of healing no matter what they did, and Ginny and Lupin had resolved to keep him as comfortable as possible until he woke up and decided what he wanted to do next.

Lupin watched Ginny closely as she tended to Harry's wound, and he marveled at the tenderness with which she took care of him, and the meticulousness of the schedule she had constructed for the various potions they had gotten from Madam Pomfrey the day before.

"You will make a marvelous Healer, Ginny," Lupin said quietly when she finally sat down again, taking Harry's hand just as her mother had the summer before Harry's sixth year.

"Yes, she will," a soft voice said from the doorway, and both Lupin and Ginny snapped their attention to the doorway, relaxing only when they saw the familiar form of Molly Weasley, shrugging off her fall cloak before hurrying to Harry's side.

"What's happened?" she whispered, horrified, as she looked at Harry's wound.

"Harry's been hurt," Ginny replied simply. "Madam Pomfrey saw him yesterday and said that he was only unconscious because he had expended all of his energy and his body needed to conserve everything for the purpose of healing."

Molly nodded. "How did he get hurt?" she asked anxiously, putting her arm around Ginny, who now seemed to Molly to be much older than she had been just two weeks previously.

"Harry was doing what he had to do," Lupin answered her sadly.

"Was he in a duel?" Molly persisted.

"No, Mum," Ginny said tiredly, silently pleading with Lupin to help her deflect her mother's questions.

"Molly," Lupin said, putting his hand on her arm. "You'll have to trust us for now."

The sharp intake of breath warned both Ginny and Lupin that, had they not been standing around Harry's bedside, they would have been treated to a telling-off right then and there. After a moment, however, Molly sighed in resignation.

"It's not anything about you, Mum," Ginny tried to reason with her. "Dumbledore..."

"Dumbledore was not always known for making the right decisions concerning Harry," Molly whispered, a bitter edge to her voice.

"Then trust me, Mum," Ginny said quietly. "Please."

Molly gazed searchingly at her, and for the first time ever, she found that she was looking into the eyes of a woman rather than a girl. Her own eyes filled with tears as she drew her youngest child into her arms. "I trust you, Ginevra," she said so softly that Ginny would not have heard had her mother's lips not been right next to her ears.

So it was that when Harry woke, he was greeted with the sight of the two Weasley women hugging one another and crying, and he sat up straight with alarm, for he could not remember what had happened as the Horcrux had been destroyed. He could see that Lupin and Ginny were in the room with him, of course, but what if Ron or Hermione...

"What's going on?" he asked urgently, his voice hoarse and cracking.

"Calm down, Harry," Lupin said immediately. "Everything's okay."

Molly and Ginny immediately broke apart, wiping their eyes and attempting to smile bravely at him, though each of them, in looking at Harry, was afraid: Ginny because of what she knew and Molly because of what she did not.

"How are you?" Ginny asked, immediately putting a cool hand on his forehead to feel for fever. Nodding in satisfaction, she sat on the bed next to him.

"I'm okay," Harry said as the memories of the previous night flooded back in. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"They're downstairs eating," Lupin said. "They promised to bring something up for us, but Ron has been rather hungry all day today, so I don't know whether we'll see any food or not."

"I'll go see to it," Mrs. Weasley said after giving Harry a hug. No one ever went hungry when she was in the house.

After she had closed the door behind her, Harry looked back and forth from Ginny to Lupin, smiling grimly. "We did it, didn't we?"

"You did it, Harry," Ginny corrected him gently. "Slytherin's locket is gone."

"Well, not completely, it seems," Harry said, gingerly touching the gold-filled burn on his chest, the exact size and shape of the locket.

"Madam Pomfrey may be able to -" Lupin began.

"No," Harry said. "I don't know why, but I am fairly sure she can't, and I don't even know if she should."

"Should what?" Hermione asked, coming into the room with a tray of sandwiches. She smiled at Harry and hugged him after she had set the tray down on the chest. "I'm glad you're back, Harry," she told him.

"Thanks," he muttered, embarrassed as always with the attention he drew whenever he was stuck in bed.

"Should what?" Hermione repeated, knowing this routine well and determined to avoid it if she could.

"Should remove the gold and the burn from Harry's chest," Lupin said, leaning back in the armchair with a sigh; neither he nor Ginny had gotten a wink of sleep since the previous day.

Hermione said nothing, but a strange light came into her eyes and she suddenly looked at Harry more intently than she had ever done before. It was obvious that whatever she was thinking troubled her greatly as her eyes fixed themselves on Harry's wound and then on his scar, back and forth, for several long moments.

"What is it, Hermione?" Ginny asked, but Hermione would say nothing. She shook herself slightly, like one coming out of a daydream, and smiled as brightly as she could.

"Ron and I have loads to tell you, Harry," she said almost too eagerly, as though she was desperate for a change in subject. "We've been in the Black family library for hours, and..."

As Hermione chattered on about old books and the possibilities that lay within their covers, Harry settled back on his pillows, exhausted and in pain but strangely triumphant, knowing that the cost had not been too great for such an important step in their journey.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

"This has to be it, Ron!" Hermione said excitedly some hours later. Ginny, Lupin and Harry were all sleeping soundly a floor above them, Ginny and Harry curled up together on Harry's bed (despite Mrs. Weasley's protests that it wasn't proper), and Lupin in his own room down the hall. Ron was showing signs of fatigue as well, but Hermione was too excited to even think of sleeping.

"What does, Hermione?" Ron asked, stifling a yawn with difficulty.

"Look!" she exclaimed, shoving a dusty and yellowed book under his nose.

"Hermione," Ron protested, "It's after eleven at night and the words on that page are so faded I can't read them. Won't this wait until - " Ron broke off suddenly and yawned, stretching his arms above his head. " - tomorrow?"

"No, Ronald!" Hermione replied impatiently, leaning across him and pointing to a particularly faded passage on the page in front of him. He was too tired to notice, but she was just barely restraining herself from jumping up and dancing around the room - after months of searching, she believed she might have found the object once belonging to Helga Hufflepuff that Voldemort could have used as a Horcrux.

Ron squinted at the letters. Was it just his tired eyes, or were the millions of small, black figures having a swimming competition on the page in front of him?

"Once having been stored and displayed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he read slowly, "the golden pup of Hufflepuff..." He looked up. "The golden pup?" he asked in confusion.

Hermione rolled her eyes, sighing. "Honestly, Ronald," she said as though everyone should be able to read aged text while they were one step out of slumberland. "It's 'cup,' not 'pup.'"

"Oh, right," Ron muttered, embarrassed. "The golden cup of Hufflepuff, believed to be the very cup used in the binding of the four founders of Hogwarts itself and in the chartering of the school, was stolen from its place of honor at the school in 1944..." He looked up at Hermione, dawning comprehension on his face. "Bloody brilliant!" he said. "1944 would have been Riddle's...erm..."

"Seventh year at Hogwarts," Hermione supplied.

"But what does it mean, 'the binding of the four founders?'" Ron asked.

"Aren't you ever going to read Hogwarts, a History?" she asked with a small smile, knowing the answer full well.

"Why should I when you've got it memorized?" Ron shrugged as he gave his standard response. "So what does it mean?"

"There were several magical contracts forged when the four founders began Hogwarts," Hermione said, "though most of them are unknown because they were done in complete secrecy. One of the strongest forms of binding people to one another in the time of the founders was the sharing of a charmed chalice, and what records there are indicate that just such a contract might have been forged." She indicated another passage in the book. "And if Voldemort had found out about that, and about the cup..."

"And stole it before he left school," Ron continued.

"Then it could be just what we're looking for," Hermione concluded with satisfaction, closing the book with a dull "thud" after she had marked her place.

"Now, Ron," she said, "we really ought to get some sleep, you know. Harry's going to want to know about this and then we're going to have to find this cup."

"Right," Ron agreed, yawning again, his eyelids already drooping.

"So go to bed," she said fondly before she tilted his head with her hand and kissed him. "We'll tell Harry in the morning when he wakes up."

"Right," Ron said again, heading for the door.

"Oh, and Ron?" Hermione said just as he was about to plod out into the hallway and to his room.

"Yeah?" he asked, turning to face her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, beaming at him. "I love you."

He grinned. "Love you too, Hermione."

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

The next day, Ginny insisted that Harry stay in bed with a fervor that made him wonder if she had morphed into a strange combination of her mother and Madam Pomfrey. Though he told her repeatedly that he felt fine, she would not waver, and with a small smile on his face, Lupin had advised that he stop arguing.

"Trust me, Harry," he had said, his eyes twinkling for the first time in weeks. "This is not a battle that you will win. Take advantage of the time to rest, because I am certain that it will be all too short-lived." The twinkle had faded as he made this statement; Ron and Hermione had been in early that morning with their news about the cup, and Lupin knew that the four teenagers would be off again as soon as they had even the foggiest idea of where they might find it.

Realizing the truth behind what his guardian had said, Harry rather grumpily consented to stay in his bed for the remainder of the day, though he swore that no one, not even the exceptionally pretty red-headed witch sitting at his bedside, would keep him down after that. After breakfast, Ginny went downstairs to help her mother with some household chores (for Molly could not be convinced that a thorough scrub of the Grimmauld Place kitchen was not necessary), Ron and Hermione left to go to Diagon Alley for some supplies and books for Ginny, and Lupin went to the library to look over everything Ron and Hermione had discovered the night before.

Feeling slightly abandoned, Harry groused to himself, picking at the threads on his comforter and wishing for the first time since he had entered the Wizarding world that he had a television set to keep him occupied.

When Aberforth Dumbledore peeked his head into the room almost a half an hour later, he was vastly amused to find Harry, a cloudy expression on his face, practicing his Reducto charm on various bits of dust and debris around the edges of the room.

"Hones'ly, m'lad, what did that dust ever do to you?" he asked, opening the door fully and striding in, dressed in robes of cherry red velvet. He looked, in Harry's opinion, like a much thinner version of Father Christmas, a rather funny sight in the middle of October.

"Aberforth!" Harry exclaimed in surprise, pulling up his wand abruptly and causing a shower of gold sparks to emit from the end of it. He blushed in embarrassment and adjusted the pillows behind his back so he could sit up straighter.

Aberforth clucked his tongue good-naturedly. "No sense stoppin' the spell midway through," he chuckled. "Reducto!" The dust bunny at which Harry had been aiming exploded in a small cloud of smoke and fine particles of dust. "Knew there was a reason I made Kibbly do this stuff," he commented, sneezing loudly.

Harry laughed. Not only was he incredibly glad to see the old barkeep, but any distraction from his forced boredom and solitude was more than welcome. "Hi," he said, wincing slightly as he pulled his pajama shirt closed. Even with all the potions Madam Pomfrey had left behind two days before, the burn on his chest continued to be a very painful reminder of the destruction of Slytherin's locket, and even Harry's usual modesty could not keep him from leaving his top open or off as much as was possible.

"No need to hide it, Harry," Aberforth said gruffly. "Lupin told me what happened."

Harry nodded but did not open his top, no matter how much the stinging pain in his chest increased when it came into contact with the worn cotton of his pajamas. He wondered how long it would be before he could wear a shirt or robes without discomfort.

"My brother always thought scars were useful," Aberforth commented. "Never really thought so meself, I have to admit. I have a right ugly one across my back from when I -" He stopped abruptly. "Well, suffice to say that I don't find it to be useful in the slightest."

Harry grinned in spite of himself, wondering exactly what Aberforth wasn't telling him about the scar on his back. He didn't ask, however, but instead invited Aberforth to sit in the wingback chair next to his bed.

"How are you feeling, lad?" Aberforth asked as he settled into it.

"I'm fine," Harry replied automatically. "I'm only in bed because Ginny won't let me get up."

"Never get crossways with a Weasley woman," Aberforth replied matter-of-factly. "One of the best bits of advice Al ever gave me, and trust me, he gave me a fair share of it."

"Professor Dumbledore talked to you about Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked with interest.

"Well, not exactly," Aberforth said, "though I know he held her in the highest esteem. His advice actually had more to do with her mother, Esmeralda Prewitt, who could tear a man up, down and sideways when she had a mind to."

"Must be hereditary," Harry muttered, feeling a bit grumpy again.

"The Prewitts were family friends," Aberforth continued. "Was a damned shame what happened to Molly's brothers in the first war, a damned shame. Better people you could never find."

"It seems like you and Professor Dumbledore knew everybody," Harry commented, hoping Aberforth would tell him more about their family. For reasons he couldn't exactly explain, Harry felt an immense curiosity about the former headmaster, his brother, and in fact, their entire family.

"Well, you can't come from the 'distinguished' line of the pure-blooded Dumbledores without knowing a fair few people," Aberforth grunted, and Harry was surprised at the note of bitterness with which Aberforth had said the word "distinguished."

"Your family goes way back, then," Harry prompted. During his stay at the Hog's Head at the start of the fall, he had often tried to coax Aberforth for more information about the Dumbledore family, but the old barkeep almost always sidestepped his questions, and Harry could never stop wondering why. It was obvious how much Aberforth had loved his brother, and from what Harry had heard, his parents as well...so why was he so reluctant to talk about the family?

"You could say that," Aberforth responded dryly. "All the way back to the four founders, to be exact. It's a small wonder that Al ended up at the school when he could have done so much more, unlike me." The note of bitterness was back, and though Harry had a thousand more questions about Professor Dumbledore's link to the founders of Hogwarts, he didn't ask. He knew from experience that if Aberforth got into a bad mood, he was highly unpleasant to be around.

For a long few moments, there was silence in the room. Looking carefully at Harry, Aberforth finally broke it with a grin and a chuckle. "Why'd'ya want to be hearin' all them old tales, Harry? None of that's so important, now is it?"

"I guess not," Harry shrugged, feeling rather let down.

"Let me tell you what is important," Aberforth continued, leaning forward and placing a gnarled hand on Harry's arm.

"What?"

"We're having some right nice weather outside right now, lad, that's what," Aberforth said, leaning back with a smile. "I've been puttering around in me garden as much as I can. It's chilly, sure, but the sun's shinin' and the flowers have a life of their own."

Harry blinked, trying to force his mind into this new subject. He knew that Aberforth loved the outdoors, but what was he playing at, talking about how wonderful it was when he, Harry, was cooped up in this dusty, gloomy bedroom in Grimmauld Place?

Aberforth did not miss the hint of a scowl that crossed Harry's face before he tried to hide it under a gaze of forced interest. "I'm not tellin' you that for me health, you know," he continued. "Might do you and your little miss some good to get out of this dark old house for a day, don't you think?"

Harry couldn't help but smile as he imagined Ginny's reaction to being called his "little miss," but he decided that, for the safety of his own nose, he had best not try calling her that. "Ginny won't want me to leave the house," Harry replied. "She wants me to rest."

"She told you to rest for today," Aberforth said, winking at Harry. "Tomorrow's Saturday, lad, and I can't think of nothin' better than spending a day around Hogsmeade, or even just in my garden if you want. I'll see to it that you're left alone." He winked again.

Harry brightened a little at the thought of spending a whole day with Ginny, a day unmarred by thoughts of Horcruxes and war. "I wonder if she'd go," Harry said.

"I think she would, lad," Aberforth replied gently. "You know, you're not the only one cooped up in this house."

"I know," Harry said, and he was about to comment that at least Ginny wasn't confined to bed when he reflected that she would probably rather be in bed than helping Molly scrub the kitchen. Though she was not a messy person by nature, Harry knew that Ginny hated housework with a passion.

"Want me to get her?" Aberforth asked, his eyes twinkling so much like his brother's used to that Harry had to look away.

"Sure," Harry replied.

Aberforth left the room and returned a few moments later with a giggling Ginny on his arm, much as though they had gone out for a stroll together.

"Perfect timing," Ginny said, plopping down on the bed next to Harry with a loud sigh. "Mum was about ready to go down and scrub out the boiler room under the kitchen."

Harry wrinkled his nose, remembering how disgustingly filthy it was down there. "Tell her I need your expert medical help," he suggested.

She giggled, nuzzling close to him. "How are you feeling, love?" she asked.

"I'm okay," Harry replied honestly, and then continued before she could make an issue of it, "Listen, Aberforth's invited us to spend tomorrow in Hogsmeade. What do you think?"

Ginny frowned. "I don't know," she said slowly. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

"Yes," Harry said simply, knowing that if he said much more than that, it would likely result in an argument.

"You both need to get out of here," Aberforth said definitely. "It won't do Harry no harm to sit in my garden for some of the day, or to stroll on the street. It's been pretty quiet in town of late."

Ginny considered carefully, weighing the thought of letting Harry out of bed when, in truth, she had planned on making him stay put through the weekend, against the thought of scrubbing out the dirty basement with her mother.

"Okay," she finally acquiesced. "As long as you promise to take it easy."

Harry grinned and put his arm around her, kissing her on the cheek. "I promise."

"That's the spirit!" Aberforth cried jovially, surprising them both. Catching their expressions, he added, "Ain't no use missing out on the beautiful things in life just to fight against some old bugger who ain't got the sense to see them himself," he said.

"You know what, Aberforth?" Ginny said. "I think you're right."

When Aberforth left the room a few moments later, he carefully shut the door behind him and, after glancing around to make sure no one was watching, aimed his wand at the doorknob. The lock clicked softly, and with a nod of satisfaction, Aberforth went down to the kitchen to keep Molly distracted.

* * *

The next day dawned bright and crisp, and after popping into the back garden, Ginny almost cancelled their outing, citing that it was much to cold for Harry to even consider spending the day out of doors. It was actually Molly, of all people, who convinced her to let him go.

"Ginny, dear," she said as she put her heavy cloak on to journey back to the Burrow, "you can't keep Harry locked up inside all of the time."

Ginny's mouth opened in astonishment. Her mother was telling her to take Harry outside in the cold when he had only so recently been so badly injured? This was unprecedented.

"I know, Ginny," Molly said with a smile. "And normally I would agree that a few more days of rest would do him good, but right now I think that getting out a bit would bring some color back into his face, don't you?"

Nodding reluctantly, Ginny agreed to the date after making Harry promise they would come back before it grew dark. Truth be told, she wanted nothing more than to get out of Grimmauld Place for a few hours for some reason other than the war, but she was not willing to sacrifice Harry's health for it. Her mother's reassurance had been just what she needed to allay her conscience.

"Are we going to Apparate?" she asked Harry after her mother had turned on the Apparation point in the back garden and disappeared.

Harry frowned. "I don't know," he said, hoping that his admission of his own weakness wouldn't cause Ginny to change her mind. "I don't know if I should just yet, and to take you with me..." He trailed off, looking at her with a question in his eyes.

"Why don't we Floo, then?" she suggested brightly, causing relief to flood over his face. "I'll just contact Aberforth to make sure the pub's empty first."

"It's seven in the morning," Harry pointed out, laughing. "None of his regular customers would ever think of getting up that early."

"True, but just to be safe," Ginny replied, sticking her head into the kitchen fire and calling for Aberforth. A few moments later, she confirmed that the pub was indeed empty.

Harry stepped into the green flames and shouted, "Hog's Head," tucking his elbows firmly in and bracing himself for the dizzying feeling of hurtling through the many fireplaces on the Floo Network.

He emerged in one piece, though a little green in the face, and dusted the soot off of his traveling cloak while he waited for Ginny to arrive.

"Kibbly's got breakfast ready for you in the back," Aberforth said quietly from behind the bar after Ginny had arrived.

"It's pretty cold for breakfast outside," Ginny said worriedly.

"Stop being so fussy," Aberforth ordered her. "It ain't becoming. You don't think I took care of that? You ain't the only one watchin' out for this young man."

Harry laughed at the expression on Ginny's face, half outraged and half amused that Aberforth would speak to her in that manner.

"Thanks, Aberforth," he said before outrage got the better of his girlfriend. He steered her outside, feeling more cheerful than he had in awhile.

They both shivered as the cold fall air hit them when they exited through the back door of the pub, but when they reached the small table, they felt as though they had entered a heated bubble of warmth, and Harry knew that Aberforth had cast some sort of warming charm around the whole area. He made a mental note to ask how that was done; if he could just learn how, they would never have to stand out in the cold again.

"This is nice!" Ginny said as they settled down into the chairs on either side of the garden table and waited for Kibbly to appear.

"Do you know how he did it?" Harry asked with interest. This seemed like just the sort of spell that Molly Weasley would know.

"No," Ginny said, echoing his thoughts when she continued, "but I bet Mum would give her right ear to learn how to do this."

Harry was about to respond when a 'pop' announced Kibbly's arrival.

"Harry Potter's breakfast," he announced solemnly, and Harry was pleased to see that he was once again wearing his tiny white wizard's robes. He knew that Kibbly would not have revealed himself as a free elf to Ginny unless he had decided she was trustworthy.

"Thanks, Kibbly," Ginny said easily and the tiny elf placed a large tray on the table, complete with a vase containing two red roses.

"You are welcome, Miss Weasley," Kibbly croaked, and then stared at the table pointedly. "You must eat before it becomes cold," he said.

Harry remembered how Kibbly would often stay in his room and watch him eat when he had been staying at the Hog's Head, and quickly began unloading the tray, finding steaming hot plates of fried eggs and sausages under the heavy silver warmers. His stomach growled loudly; none of the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place were cooks, and he had grown rather resigned to the breakfasts of fried ham and toast to which he had become accustomed.

"This looks great, Kibbly!" he said enthusiastically, warning Ginny with a glance that giggling right now would likely invoke the wrath of the rather touchy house-elf standing next to the table.

"Yes," Ginny agreed with forced seriousness, understanding Harry's look. "It looks wonderful. Thank you."

"Kibbly will be thanked when Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley eat their breakfast," Kibbly responded, beginning to sound irritated.

"Right," Ginny said, suddenly all business. She pushed one of the plates toward Harry and then raised her crystal goblet of pumpkin juice in the air and waited for Harry to mimic her actions. "To us?" she suggested, smiling brilliantly at him.

"To us," he confirmed, blushing and uncomfortably aware of Kibbly in a stance of firm determination, staring at each of them in turn and waiting for them to eat.

Just as he had so many times when Harry was staying at the Hog's Head, Kibbly did not leave their sides until they had finished every crumb on their plates and drunk the last drops from their goblets. Harry didn't know why, but it seemed like this particular house-elf had a particular obsession with making sure that the people under his care ate adequately. He made a mental note to ask Aberforth about that when he had the chance.

After the plates were cleared, Harry and Ginny stared across the table at one another, enjoying the quiet, the beautiful scenery of the garden and the fact that they were alone together for what seemed like the first time in weeks.

"How are you feeling?" Ginny asked after a few moments had passed like this, squeezing Harry's hand under the table.

"It hurts a little bit," Harry said honestly, knowing that she would not be satisfied with the obligatory "fine" that he gave to everyone else who asked. "But other than that, I really feel okay, Ginny."

She nodded and smiled at him. "I won't ask again," she said quietly, knowing Harry didn't want to think about Horcruxes that day. "You just let me know if you need anything, love."

"Thanks," he whispered, but he was not sure if he was talking to her or if he were speaking to whatever nameless entity had put her into his life...because he could no longer imagine his life without her.

After putting their heavy cloaks back on (Harry doing his best not to wince at the pain caused by the extra weight on his chest), Ginny and Harry spent some time strolling around Aberforth's garden and then decided to head out to the high street and look in the shops for awhile. Though it was a bit early to be thinking about Christmas, Harry had a vague thought of watching Ginny shop so that he might get some ideas on what to give her.

"Oh, no," Ginny groaned as soon as they had reached the end of the main street.

Harry quickly looked down the street, his hand already clutching his wand, when he realized what Ginny had groaned about. The high street was absolutely packed - it was clearly a Hogsmeade weekend for the students at Hogwarts.

"Quick," Harry whispered, pulling at Ginny's arm, but it was too late.

"Wotcher, Harry!" shouted a cheerful voice from about a quarter kilometer down the road. She was so loud that everyone in her vicinity immediately turned to see if she was really talking to Harry Potter, and when it was clear that she was, six or seven cloaked figures hurried towards them.

"Honestly," Ginny hissed. "Tonks might have had more sense." Though she had no objection to seeing their friends, she had not been prepared for the kind of stir their appearance might cause, and she worried that it would be too much for Harry. She had not missed his wince of pain when he had put on his cloak, and she rather thought he was looking a bit peaked.

Harry didn't have time to reply as they became surrounded by sixth- and seventh-years, mostly from Gryffindor.

"Wow, Harry!" Neville said jubilantly. "I didn't know I was going to see you here! I almost didn't come..."

"Ginny! Harry!" Colin Creevey beamed as he looked at the two of them. "All right, Harry?" he asked, just as he always did, waiting for Harry's response.

Harry tried to grin. "All right," he answered.

"You know, you really should have owled," Luna said vaguely. "My father sent me some things for you, Harry, because he knows what you are up to. If I had known you were coming, I would have brought them."

Conversation came to a dead halt.

"The whole Wizarding world knows what he's up to, Luna," Ginny said to cover the awkward silence. "It's rather obvious, isn't it?"

Luna leaned forward and even Tonks could not effectively pretend she was not straining to hear what the blonde Ravenclaw would say.

"It's the army of Heliopaths, isn't it?" Luna whispered confidentially. "I told you about them last year, and now you're going off to defeat them, aren't you?"

"Erm...no," Harry said.

"Luna, everyone knows he's off to fight He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Dennis Creevey squeaked excitedly.

She turned to look at him with the eye of a patient tutor. "Of course he is," she said lightly. "But he's got to get through the Heliopaths and the Inferi first, doesn't he?" She turned back to Harry. "If you'll just tell me where I can owl you, I'll send the things from my father right along. I have my own owl now, you know."

Harry was still trying to clear the image of a full army of Inferi out of his mind and didn't respond right away.

"Harry?" Neville, Tonks and Ginny all asked at once, breaking him out of his nightmare. He shook his head slightly and refocused on the group around him, which was thankfully shielding him from the gaze of the other students coming up and down the street.

"Sorry," he said. He caught Ginny looking questioningly at him, but his glance warned her not to say anything. Tonks, though she was in the Order, was not privy to the information about the Horcruxes. Though Harry trusted her as much as he did almost anyone else, he worried about the danger she could be in, possessing that information. No, he thought again as he looked at her keen, piercing gaze, Dumbledore was right. The fewer people who know, the better.

"Harry?" Luna persisted.

"Just give anything you have for me to McGonagall," Harry replied absently. "Or Tonks. Okay?"

"Right-o," Luna replied, and now that this peculiar conversation seemed to have been concluded, everyone else started talking at once.

"Where have you been, Harry?"

"Are you really going to fight You-Know-Who?"

"Are you going to come back to school?"

"Why do you look so pale?"

The last question came from Tonks, and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that she would be contacting Lupin as soon as she got back to her office in the school, or worse, that she would talk to McGonagall about it.

He was spared having to answer any of the questions, however, when Ginny said definitely, "Harry and I have to be getting back. It's been great seeing you all."

"But you've only been here for five minutes!" Neville said, the disappointment evident in his voice.

"Nevertheless," Ginny insisted. "We've got a lot to do today. Come on, Harry."

Harry gave Neville a look that plainly stated, "Sorry, mate, but what's a guy to do?" and let Ginny lead him back down the alleyway and to the back entrance of the Hog's Head.

Aberforth met them in the garden, looking worried. "I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I didn't know it was a Hogwarts weekend. I'm not in the loop so much now as I used to be. You two all right?"

"Ran into a few people," Ginny said, and then hastily added, "all friends. It's ok, Aberforth. We'll be off again in a few minutes."

Harry looked at her in surprise. It was barely midmorning...surely she didn't mean to go back to Grimmauld Place already? Though the day had, so far, not gone as well as he had planned, Harry was not ready to shut himself and Ginny back up at Headquarters just yet.

"We're just going to take a walk, somewhere less conspicuous than the high street," Ginny explained to Harry's relief. When she winked at him, he suddenly blushed crimson, knowing exactly where she was planning on taking him.

Aberforth chuckled. "Right," he said. "A walk. Well, then, I'd best get back to me pub. Kibbly! Where is that blasted house-elf?" With that, Aberforth walked back into the building, an almost jovial swagger to his step. It could not have been clearer that he thought Harry and Ginny's plans for the afternoon were not only acceptable, but excellent.

Ginny grinned at Harry and raised one of her eyebrows suggestively. "You up for some alone time, love?"

"Erm..." Harry sputtered, not having expected this turn of events in the least. When Aberforth had left them alone the day before, Ginny hadn't wanted to do anything more than cuddle and snog a little bit for fear of tiring him out.

"We'll take it easy," Ginny suggested. "I just thought...well, we almost never get any true time to ourselves." She looked a little awkward all of a sudden, for most of the other times they had been together, their trysts had been more spur-of-the-moment.

Harry didn't, couldn't reply verbally, but he wanted to make sure that she understood he was all for the idea. Grinning in a sheepish sort of way, he reached into his pocket and took out his Invisibility Cloak...he didn't want any interruptions.

Ten minutes later, they reached the back gate of the Shack, and Harry snaked his arm just the tiniest bit out of his Invisibility Cloak. "Secret Unsecured," he whispered, and he heard the lock snap open.

They hurried up the grassed-over walkway towards the back door, stopping only when it shut behind them with a solid-sounding creak and thud. Still under the cloak, Ginny turned to Harry, took his face in her hands, and kissed him softly. After a moment, she stopped, pointed her wand at the door, whispered, "Secret Secured," and led him up the stairs.

Neither of them noticed the rat scurrying quietly behind them, a rat with curiously patched fur and a missing forefinger...a rat on a mission.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

Minerva McGonagall sat quietly in her office on Sunday morning, reading through her mail. She sighed ruefully, understanding now why Albus Dumbledore had always insisted that his Sundays remain as quiet as possible. One needed the entire day just to catch up on the owls from parents, Ministry officials and school governors, not to mention the startling amounts of minutiae one must attend to in order to keep the school running. Reluctant though she had been to give up her post as Transfiguration teacher, she knew now exactly why it had been necessary. Imagine trying to set examinations and grade essays with everything else she had to do!

Removing her square-shaped spectacles for a moment, McGonagall rubbed at the space between her eyes with her thumb and forefinger before getting up to put a kettle of water to boil on the trivet. She had just sent a reply to a letter from Rufus Scrimgeour, once again insisting that she had no idea what Harry Potter was up to. Not that I would be likely to tell him anyway, she thought bitterly, but she actually found herself a small bit relieved that she could truthfully answer in the negative to his demands for information.

A gentle chuckle behind her caused her to turn sharply from the grate and shoot a piercing glance at the portrait of Professor Dumbledore situated on the wall with the others. His blue eyes were twinkling rather merrily in contrast to her current mood.

"Rather a lot of paperwork, isn't it, Minerva?" The painted Dumbledore situated himself more comfortably in his chintz armchair and waved his wand, causing a steaming, painted cup of tea to appear in his hands. He sipped appreciatively. "Ah," he said, "nothing more relaxing than a nice cup of tea on a cold day."

McGonagall didn't respond, but instead, treated him to a tight-lipped smile as she helped herself to a biscuit from the tartan tin on the corner of the Headmistress's desk.

"Now, really," the painted Dumbledore protested with a slight frown, "there is no need to be rude. You are fully aware that any biscuits I might conjure in this portrait taste abominably like oil paint."

Again, McGonagall didn't respond, but dipped her biscuit into her tea - a rather uncouth habit she had never broken since her girlhood over seventy years before.

"If I might direct your attention away from that delicious-looking biscuit for but a moment, Minerva," Dumbledore said almost reproachfully

She sighed. For the past five months, the portrait of Dumbledore had seemed to make a point of offering its advice every time she tried to have a quiet moment with her tea and biscuits in her office, but was resolutely quiet at the times when she thought she most needed his advice. "What is it, Albus?" she asked tiredly, setting the biscuit down on her white china saucer and fervently wishing she could install a heavy, opaque velvet curtain over the portrait of her old colleague.

"There is a note from Miss Granger on the corner of your blotter," the painted Dumbledore pointed out. "I believe you might find it of some import."

McGonagall reluctantly pushed the cup and saucer out of the way and found the letter under three or four others. She looked up in surprise. "Albus, how did you know - "

The portrait feigned sleep.

Well, McGonagall thought dryly as she pulled her cup and saucer back towards her, at least I can eat in peace.

A moment later, however, her snack was forgotten as she wrinkled her brow in disturbed puzzlement, wondering why Hermione Granger would be asking her about the cup stolen from the school over fifty years ago. It was an interesting piece of Hogwarts history, to be sure, for the cup had been the only known item of import ever stolen from the school, but she could honestly not see the pertinence of it to the current crisis.

"The cup of Helga Hufflepuff," the painted Dumbledore mumbled. "I had wondered...the binding..."

"What are you talking about, Albus?" McGonagall asked a bit impatiently.

"I believe you would do well to ask Narcissa Malfoy," he said, settling back once more into his chair.

He would say no more.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

The summons came so early the next morning that Harry almost couldn't believe it when he opened his eyes and saw Lupin standing over him, a worried and apologetic expression on his face.

"What?" he asked blearily, slapping his hand around on the bedside table to find his glasses. Catching Lupin's expression once he had found them and focused his eyes to the early morning light, he sat bolt upright.

"What's the matter?" he asked, fumbling on the table again, this time for his wand.

"Calm down, Harry," Lupin said. "I got an owl from Professor McGonagall a few moments ago. She insists that she has to see you as soon as is possible."

"Now?" Harry asked.

"Did anything happen yesterday that I should know about?" Lupin asked shrewdly, looking at Harry, who blushed.

"We saw some people on the street," Harry said, talking a little too quickly, "Tonks and Neville and..." he trailed off, a sudden thought having just occurred to him. "Didn't Tonks tell you she saw us yesterday?"

"Yes, I spoke to her, but she only mentioned that she saw you for a few minutes and that you looked pale. McGonagall seems to be unduly concerned. Did you see anybody else?"

"No one except Aberforth," Harry said. "After that we were under the Invisibility Cloak and..."

"Okay," Lupin said, chuckling in spite of himself. "I understand. Nevertheless, I would suggest you Floo to Hogwarts soon."

"Just me?" Harry asked, feeling a little irritated that his presence had been summoned without so much as asking him what his plans were.

"Just you," Lupin confirmed. "She was quite specific, actually."

Harry was confused. What Lupin was saying made little sense to him. Why did McGonagall want to see him now, and why alone? He had already made it clear that he was not going to reveal his mission, and he had thought they had come to an agreement about that.

"I'm not sure, Harry," Lupin said, catching his bewildered look. "It must have something to do with the Order, I would think...but why she wants you alone is quite beyond me."

An almost inaudible knock sounded on the door. "Harry?" Ginny whispered, peeking her head in. Upon seeing Lupin standing in the room and Harry shrugging on some robes and facing away from her, she blushed crimson. It could not have been clearer that she had expected to find him alone and still asleep; she had wanted to snuggle up with him for the morning as they woke.

She recovered quickly. "Remus?" she asked. "Is everything all right?"

Harry answered for him, biting back another flash of annoyance that she had addressed Remus rather than him. "McGonagall wants me at Hogwarts."

"I'll go get dressed," she said, and turned to leave.

"It's okay," Harry said. "McGonagall wants me to go alone. I'm sure it won't take long."

Ginny frowned. "Okay," she said slowly, sounding a little disappointed.

"I'll tell you anything that happens," Harry promised her, wincing as he pulled his robes over his chest, his back to Lupin and Ginny.

"Why don't I just travel with you?"

Harry wasn't sure why, but this request caused him a flash of annoyance. "I'm just going to Floo," he said, trying hard to sound casual as he turned around. "Straight to her office and straight back. I should be able to manage that, don't you think?"

Hurt flashed in Ginny's eyes at his tone, which clearly betrayed his annoyance. The truth was simply that he hadn't slept well at all since they had destroyed Slytherin's locket, due to the pain in his chest every time he moved. Because Harry had made every effort to hide that fact from her, however, she had no way of knowing that fatigue was the only real reason for his irritation.

"I didn't mean you couldn't manage it," Ginny said, her voice harder than usual. "I just thought you might like the company."

"Look, I'm sorry," Harry said, catching her hand in his. "This shouldn't take long, okay?" With that, he kissed her on the cheek and hurried out of the room for the fireplace in the kitchen, leaving Ginny and Lupin to exchange glances of bewilderment and concern.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

"Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed as Harry emerged from the fireplace in her office and dusted the ashes from his robes. Nymphadora Tonks had told her that Harry had looked rather pale, but she was not quite prepared for the peaked, exhausted look that had overtaken Harry's features.

"Professor?" Harry responded quizzically.

She stepped briskly over to him and took his chin into one bony hand, looking over him critically much like Molly Weasley was wont to do. "What have you been doing, Potter?" she asked anxiously. It was obvious that he had been injured, and McGonagall knew that Madam Pomfrey had been dispatched to Grimmauld Place a few days previously, but the matron had refused to discuss the injury, citing that patient confidentiality was one of her many oaths.

"What I have to do," Harry said wearily, giving her the answer which had become almost rote over the past few days.

"You don't look well," McGonagall continued anxiously.

"I'm fine," Harry answered, looking her straight in the eye.

"Very well," she said with a sigh, retreating to the chair behind her desk because she knew she would get nothing more out of him on the subject.

"What do you need, Professor?" Harry asked quietly after a few moments. He felt highly uncomfortable, knowing that she had not summoned him to Hogwarts so early on a Monday morning so that she could inquire about his health.

"I received a note from Miss Granger on Sunday morning regarding the disposition of a Hogwarts heirloom, a chalice belonging to Helga Hufflepuff that was stolen many years ago, before I became a teacher here."

Harry nodded, wondering why she had requested that he come alone if all she wanted to do was discuss the cup.

"Might I ask what your interest in this artifact is?" McGonagall pressed.

"We think it might give us some information we need," Harry replied, attempting to skirt around the issue without telling an outright lie. He was almost sure that he heard one of the portraits behind him chuckle appreciatively, but he did not turn around.

"Some information?" McGonagall asked, her lips becoming thin with annoyance.

"Yes," Harry answered simply and then, before she could press him any further, asked, "Why did you want me to come alone?"

"Narcissa Malfoy seems to have some idea of the whereabouts of this chalice," McGonagall answered, irritation causing her nostrils to flare. "She insisted she would speak only to you on the matter."

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry asked. He had been under the impression that Draco Malfoy's mother, though decidedly unpleasant, knew little about the goings-on of Voldemort and his closest followers.

"Indeed," McGonagall replied curtly. "Narcissa?" she called through the door. "You may come in."

Harry was tacitly amused by the fact that McGonagall used the same strict, commanding voice on adults as she did on students, and he would have been willing to wager his Firebolt on the fact that the haughty, aristocratic Narcissa Malfoy hated every moment of her refuge at Hogwarts.

The door opened and Narcissa Malfoy entered, looking (if it were possible) more slender than before, her features wan and pale, her blonde hair thinner than he remembered and rather lackluster.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Harry asked, feeling something akin to pity for this woman who had lost so much.

"Wanted?" she snapped with a mirthless laugh. "No, I cannot say I wanted to be anywhere near you, Potter, but I do have some information you might find to be...helpful."

His feelings of pity evaporated in the face of her cold, imperious tone and the utterly disdainful way she stared at him as though he were an insect unworthy of consideration.

"Then out with it," Harry said abruptly. "I haven't got all day."

Narcissa did not look the least bit perturbed as she turned coolly to face McGonagall. "I believe I requested this interview to take place with Potter alone, Minerva."

"Potter is alone," McGonagall stated flatly, knowing where this was going and not willing to budge.

"Then I have nothing to say," she said, turning to leave.

"Professor, please," Harry said quietly.

McGonagall looked at the boy she had watched so closely for the past six years. Gone was the child she could cow with a look, to be replaced by a young man far too serious for his years. Noting the pleading quality to his voice and the quiet desperation in his features, she finally nodded.

Narcissa did not turn back until McGonagall had swept past her and the heavy door had clicked shut.

"You wanted to know something about Helga Hufflepuff's golden cup, I understand," Narcissa said, seeming again like the tired and grief-stricken woman Harry had glimpsed as she had come through the door.

"Do you know where it is?" Harry asked, getting straight to the point.

"I do," Narcissa answered. "It is in Malfoy Manor."

Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering whether or not to believe her. He was not willing to lead himself and his friends into a trap.

"You think I am lying?" Narcissa asked.

Harry did not respond. Instead, he stared at her, trying hard to discern her true purpose.

"As I have told you before, I hold no loyalty to you or to your cause," she stated bluntly. "My only objective at this time is to avenge the death of my son, and I can think of no better way to do it."

Harry continued to stare at her.

"The Dark Lord is closer to immortality than any man has ever been," she stated flatly, her voice betraying no hint of emotion.

"What do you know about it?" Harry asked, but his tone wasn't rancorous. If Narcissa Malfoy knew of the Horcruxes, he needed to know.

"I know that this cup is more precious to the Dark Lord than many other objects, even some far more valuable," Narcissa replied. "I can only conclude that it has something to do with his quest for immortality. You do know that he is descended from the fathers of this school," she added, looking distastefully around her as though this distinction were nothing that deserved much notice.

"Yes," Harry answered shortly. He did not need to be reminded of Voldemort's ties to Salazar Slytherin, though as he thought of that, the locket and now the cup, he wondered if there was any special significance to it. "You're sure it's at Malfoy Manor?"

"Of course I am," Narcissa snapped, sounding more like herself again. "I did not request to meet with you on mere whim."

"Then how do we get in?" Harry asked, finally certain that he believed her even though he was not sure exactly why he did.

As she explained how to get past the wards of the family manor, her voice growing increasingly bitter with every syllable, the bedraggled rat under the desk had to fight himself from letting out a loud squeak of excitement. He knew that the information he now possessed would get him back into the good graces of the Dark Lord.