Soul Splitting

Chapter 1: A Mother's Protection

Draco Malfoy was in trouble - big trouble. He had failed the mission the Dark Lord had given him, and he knew what the consequences would be. Dumbledore had been so kind as to remind Draco of what these were before he had had his life swept away from him by Severus Snape. Draco shuddered as he ran down the marble stairs alongside the now ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, remembering the suddenness with which Dumbledore's life had been eradicated, and how, in that same moment, Draco's life had been as good as eradicated as well.

"Hurry. We must get off the grounds so we can apparate." Snape spoke with a steady urgency that commanded obedience, though Draco could tell Snape was speaking more to himself than to Draco. With those two words, the words of the Killing Curse, Draco knew that Snape had sealed his destiny. Draco had no idea who Snape had really been working for before that moment (different people had seemed to have very different opinions on the matter), but now Snape had no choice left - his life belonged entirely to the Dark Lord, just as Draco's did.

"But where do we go from there?" Draco panted, a stitch forming in his side. "Thanks to you, I can't go to headquarters. He's going to be furious with me." Draco felt panic begin to rise in his stomach and he felt an all-too-familiar lump begin rising in his throat. But before he could say anything else, Snape spoke.

"You will apparate to my house. I believe you know the address. Do not leave it. Wait for me there and I'll see what can be done."

Just then a spell shot past Snape, barely missing him. "Potter," hissed Snape and whirled around. Draco had no desire to wait around to face Potter himself and ran on without Snape through the gates and off the grounds. As he turned on the balls of his feet, concentrating as hard as he could on the address his mother had given him in case of an emergency, he saw Potter shooting spell after spell at his professor, each of which Snape blocked with a flick of his wand.

Draco soon felt the still-new sensation of being squeezed into nothingness and found, to his displeasure, that with the distance of this trip, the feeling lasted ever so slightly longer than it had in his apparation classes. Thankfully, the traveling time was still no more than the average trip by Portkey and Draco soon felt the pressure on his body lift and his feet land on solid, yet slightly uneven, ground.

Draco took a moment to gather his bearings and take in his surroundings. He was standing in a narrow, winding street cobbled with cracked and uneven stones. He had to assume that the house he had apparated closest to was the one he wanted, so he tightened his grip on his wand and whispered, "Alohomora." He heard the lock click and he pushed the door open. But before Draco could even step across the threshold, he was knocked over with a full-body bind curse. As Peter Pettigrew knelt down to get a better look at who his spell had hit, Draco's panic heightened. As he lay there helpless at the hands of the man he knew to be one of the Dark Lord's most loyal supporters, all sorts of frightening thoughts began to spring to mind. What if the Dark Lord had already been tipped off on tonight's events and Wormtail had been sent here to find Draco? To kill him? But his immediate fears were soon put to rest, as Wormtail heaved a sigh of relief and with a flick of his wand set him free. "You had me frightened. I thought you were one of them Order members or something, Draco. What are you doing, just breaking into people's houses?"

Draco took a second to regain his breath and said haughtily, "Snape said nothing about a house guest. I had no idea there was anyone here."

"Well, I've been here for months. This is my station." Draco couldn't help picking up something that sounded a bit like bitterness in Wormtail's voice as he gestured towards the dingy sitting room beyond the doorstep on which they stood. "Won't you come in?"

Draco nodded curtly and stepped inside. The dingy, cramped room seemed very much the kind of place Snape would inhabit - every inch of it covered with stacks of books, cauldrons, chests filled with who-knew-what, loose papers crammed unceremoniously wherever they would fit, and any number of artifacts he had never seen the likes of before. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and Draco couldn't help but find the cobwebs hanging off of walls and furniture slightly cliché; despite Wormtail's having been stationed at the house for months, as he claimed, he had obviously made no effort to clean at all.

So this was where his mother had begged Snape to make the vow that had caused all this, Draco thought. That vow, the same one that had been made to protect him, might now result in his death, he feared. He had been so close. Who was Snape to think Draco couldn't have killed Dumbledore? He had only been taunting the old man before going through with it, Draco reasoned with himself, and now, since Snape had been unable to resist taking all the glory (yes, that was it, he had been trying to steal Draco's glory all along), the Dark Lord would not hesitate to punish him for his failure. Draco knew the fact that he had enabled the Death Eaters to gain entrance to Hogwarts meant nothing in the long run; they had only been there to aid him and cause fear and mayhem at the school. Dumbledore's murder had been the Dark Lord's real test for Draco, and Draco had failed, plain and simple.

"I'm sorry, I, er, wasn't expecting anyone." Wormtail poked the sofa with his wand and muttered a spell, causing a large cloud of dust to blow off of the cushions. Wormtail motioned for Draco to sit and said, "Can I fetch you something to drink, Draco? Or some food? I can only imagine you'd be famished. It was tonight, wasn't it?"

"That won't be necessary. However, if you could fetch me a Calming Draught. And, yes, it was tonight," Draco trailed off awkwardly, his ability to remain in command of those subservient to him faltering slightly.

"Oh, and it went well, I hope." Though the way Wormtail spoke it didn't actually sound as if he cared much one way or the other how it had gone. "Well, Draco, I'm afraid I don't have a Calming Draught or the like. I'm not much of a potion brewer. There might be some Firewhisky around here somewhere, though."

"Nothing, then." Draco was sure there was indeed Firewhisky around, or at least, there was if Wormtail hadn't already drunk it all, as the smell of it hung heavily around him.

An awkward minute or so was passed in silence. Wormtail was obviously unsure what to make of Draco's presence. Draco should have known better than to be worried Wormtail meant to harm him when he first arrived - Wormtail would have been far too afraid of offending Draco's father, despite his present incarceration, and Draco knew the man was too stupid to be very deceitful. Well, Draco thought as he remembered Peter Pettigrew's actions some sixteen years earlier, he could be read like a book as long as one wasn't stupid enough to place unconditional trust in him.

"So, Draco," said Wormtail finally, "why're you here?"

The frankness with which Wormtail asked him this surprised Draco. "I, er, Snape told me to come. He wants me to wait for him."

This partial truth seemed satisfactory to Wormtail, who didn't ask for any more information, and simply said, "Right, well, if you're planning on staying the night, I'm afraid there's no bed for you, so you'll just have to - "

"You can sleep on the sofa, my dear Wormtail, and young Mr. Malfoy may take your bed." Wormtail let out a high-pitched squeak. Snape had apparated into the middle of the room. Wormtail looked quite shocked for a few moments and then nodded grudgingly.

"Sir, I don't mind the sofa. I wouldn't want to take Wormtail's bed. I plan on returning home to Mother tomorrow, anyway." The truth was, Draco preferred to stay where he could see the door and wouldn't care to sleep anywhere Wormtail frequented anyway.

Snape gave Draco a searching look, and then said, "Draco we must talk. Wormtail, leave us. Go to bed - you heard Mr. Malfoy, your bed." Wormtail left the room through a secret passage, muttering under his breath things Draco couldn't quite make out, though he clearly heard stomping footsteps going up hidden stairs.

"Draco, can I get you anything to eat or drink?"

"No. Wormtail's already offered. Let's just get this over with. I'm tired."

"Fine," said Snape curtly. "Draco, you may have to stay here for some time. I'm sorry to say so, but the Dark Lord is not entirely happy with you at the moment and for you to announce your whereabouts to him or go anywhere obvious, such as your manor, would be, shall we say, imprudent."

Draco dug his fingernails into his palms and tried to fight back the frustrated tears threatening to break through. "Sir, with all due respect, I - you - if I can't go home it's your bloody fault!" he yelled. "You're the reason if he wants to kill me now! You don't have to use words like 'imprudent' to cover it up. I know perfectly well you mean if he finds me he'll kill me. AND IT'S ALL YOUR F - "

"Draco!" snapped Snape. "I had no choice. I explained to you the nature of the vow I made your mother. It's very powerful magic. You know if I had not intervened I would have died."

"Well, maybe you should have just died then!" Draco paused, breathing hard. "Your vow seems to have backfired, then, hasn't it? You haven't exactly saved my life, have you? Damn it!" Draco stood and paced to the small, dingy window at the back of the room. He grabbed the curtain and squeezed it in his fist. "You just wanted all the credit for killing the Headmaster. You wanted all the glory for yourself. And so what am I supposed to do now?"

"I'm not sure yet. However, the Dark Lord does not know of the Vow. Therefore, he would not guess that I would risk myself to hide you from him. And under normal circumstances, Draco, I wouldn't. But the Vow still holds as true now as it did an hour ago. I am bound to protect you and I will do everything I can to keep you safe until you are no longer in danger or I am no longer bound to keep you from it. Right now the best I can do is simply hide you, and for the moment the best and easiest place to do so seems to be here."

Draco bit his lower lip. "Fine. But what about him?" He gestured towards the direction in which Wormtail had disappeared.

"He wouldn't dare disobey me," said Snape simply.

There was a short silence. "So, he definitely wants to kill me, then? You're sure?" Draco asked, trying to hang on to a tiny shred of hope that his punishment might not be fatal.

"Fenrir and the others who were on the tower gave their reports and the Dark Lord is convinced that as a Death Eater you are, unfortunately, quite useless. This situation has arisen in the past, and the Dark Lord has always disposed of those he knows he cannot trust to carry out his orders with as little delay as possible. To him, allowing you to live would pose a great threat. What if you ran to the Ministry and turned yourself in, hoping for a lenient sentence if you gave them names? There are others to take your place, Draco. You can't offer him anything, and so he has no reason not to kill you, since he could lose so much by letting you live."

Draco did his best to keep his face as stoic as possible and to keep Snape from guessing what he might be thinking and feeling, but he was so tired and distressed that he found it all quite difficult. Snape must have sensed Draco's fatigue, for he quickly moved towards a door opposite the sofa Draco sat on and said, "Now, Mr. Malfoy, it is late and we have both had much excitement tonight. I suggest we sleep." Snape conjured a blanket and pillow next to Draco and without another word left the room.

Draco stayed seated for a few minutes, simply trying to process everything Snape had told him, and then after unfolding the blanket Snape had conjured (which proved disappointingly itchy) curled up on his side and closed his eyes. Sleep did not come easily, however. Draco lay awake thinking for what seemed like hours. His mind strayed over many topics: What his mother and father would think when they found out what had happened, how exactly the Dark Lord would dispose of him if he found Draco, the fact that he would never go back to Hogwarts, where he would go from Spinner's End (for Draco knew he could hardly stay there forever). And then there were the thoughts that Draco was surprised came to him at all, given the gravity of his current situation, like his nanny when he was small, the fact that if he went on the run he might not be able to bathe as often as he'd like, the ghost in the washroom who had been his confidante, what the other Slytherins were doing right now at Hogwarts. And eventually, when he could hear birds beginning to stir outside, Draco fell into an uneasy sleep plagued with dreams about towers that were made of snakes, and about trying to out-fly Thestrals (which he knew he could see now) on his Nimbus 2001, which he found, as usual, not quite as fast as he needed.

* * *

Draco spent the next two days at Spinner's End trying not to think about his own mortality. Unfortunately, this proved quite difficult, as there was hardly anything to distract him from unwanted thoughts in Snape's house. While Snape was home, he would bring papers and books to his room and hole up there for hours. In fact, since the first night there, Snape had only spoken to Draco to give him quick and useless updates on the Dark Lord's intentions, which had not changed since the night Draco had failed to kill Dumbledore.

Wormtail did all the cooking at Spinner's End, which didn't especially matter to Draco, as he was too worried to eat in the first place. When Snape wasn't home and Wormtail was holed up in his own room, Draco tried to amuse himself by going through Snape's things. Perhaps, had Draco's mind not been almost entirely consumed with images of his mother weeping over his grave, he would have found this activity more interesting. Snape had many books, Draco discovered, devoted to Dark spells and potions that he had never seen before, and some of the instruments lying around the house seemed like they might be quite dangerous. However the things that would have interested Draco the most, had he been in the right state of mind, were the private items, such as letters and bottles of a swirling silvery-white substance Draco took to be memories. Snape seemed to have made some effort to hide these items from Wormtail. They had been in locked boxes and chests and Draco had found the task of breaking the protective spells on them a welcome distraction. Obviously Snape hadn't given much credit to Wormtail's ability to break through these protections, as Draco had little trouble doing it himself. But, he supposed, Wormtail's talent was minimal and getting to these items might actually be quite difficult for someone of his poor ability. However, Draco had no interest in reading the letters once he had gotten to them, and couldn't have viewed the memories even if he'd wanted to because Snape didn't seem to own a Pensieve, so he resealed everything he had opened, careful to reproduce the exact enchantments he had broken.

Mostly, Draco tried to sleep or to concentrate enough to read one of the many books in the house, but he could hardly ever escape the feeling of dread that had come to be a constant weight in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

At dawn on the third day of Draco's stay at Spinner's End he was shaken awake by Snape, who looked more worried than Draco could remember ever having seen him.

"You have to leave."

"Pardon?" asked Draco, still bleary from sleep. "What's going on?"

"I am no longer bound to aid you, Draco, and although I care for your welfare, I care for my own more and I can't afford to hide you any longer."

"But why?" Draco demanded, his senses starting to come to him.

Snape was silent for a moment and then said, "I'm sorry, Draco, but your mother is dead. The Dark Lord ordered it and now that she's gone, any lasting spells involving her have been broken."

Draco felt as if he had been punched in the chest and had the wind knocked out of him. "What - why - why did he kill her? I thought he wanted to kill me - "

"The Dark Lord thought she was the one hiding you from him. She, of course, could only guess at your whereabouts, but he said he thought she was lying. When she wouldn't tell him anything, he had her sent home and then an hour later he sent someone to dispose of her."

"Who?" Draco asked quietly.

"Bellatrix."

Draco made a quick, choked gasp. His aunt, his mother's own sister, had murdered her, and now Draco was terribly alone without a protection in the world.

"In any case, you must leave."

"Sir - please, I - "

"I have business to attend to elsewhere, Draco. I will return in the morning and when I do, I expect you to be gone."

"But where should I go? Sir, I don't know - "

"Don't tell me! The last way in which I can help is to not know where you plan on going. If you tell me, I can't promise that the Dark Lord won't get it out of me somehow." Snape paused and examined the boy sitting on his sofa, who looked younger now than he had his first day at Hogwarts. Snape put a tentative hand on Draco's shoulder. "Good luck, Draco." With a pop, Snape Disapparated and was gone, leaving Draco agape, with no idea what to do with himself. He had known he would have to leave Spinner's End, but he had never guessed it would be this soon and under these circumstances.

"Bastard," Draco whispered. "Bastard!" Draco's breath quickened; he felt he was rapidly approaching the point of a panic attack. But before he could make the seemingly arbitrary decision of where to go, Wormtail burst through the hidden passageway that led to his quarters carrying a rucksack and began tearing apart the room, stuffing things into it. "What are you doing?" Draco asked. "Are you coming with me?"

"No, certainly not," said Wormtail hurriedly. "I'm collecting some things for you take with you, though. I heard everything, Draco, and I've had it with Snape."

"So - so, come with me then," Draco pleaded, shocked at how desperate he was for companionship.

"I can't." Wormtail paused and looked at Draco. "I still have to serve the Dark Lord. I'm too old to do anything else and too afraid to. But, Draco, Snape has things here that he will dearly miss, and I think you should take them."

Draco was too surprised to see Wormtail unlock the chest containing Snape's letters with ease, as though he had done it a hundred times, to wonder at Wormtail's blatant disrespect for Snape's authority. Wormtail emptied its contents into the rucksack and then moved onto the chest containing the little glass bottles full of memories. These too he threw into the bag, then moved to a desk in the corner of the room covered with papers. Wormtail shuffled through these and opened drawers until he found what he had been looking for - a roll of parchment tied with a green ribbon - and shoved that in as well. "All right, go, quick, I'll clean all this up and redo the spells before he comes home."

Draco nodded. He couldn't think of anything to say, so, after taking the rucksack from Wormtail, Draco walked out the door and Disapparated.

* * * * *

After much deliberation it had been decided that Ron and Hermione would go directly to The Burrow to help with the wedding, despite their desires to accompany Harry to his aunt and uncle's for the week he planned to spend fulfilling his promise to Dumbledore. Mrs. Weasley had understood her son's wishes, but she had insisted that, as brother to the groom, Ron had duties at home that he simply must attend to. Hermione had still offered to go with Harry, but he had told her that she might as well go with Ron. Harry knew the two of them needed some time alone together before their search for Horcruxes truly began. He wasn't blind; he could see quite plainly what Ron and Hermione's intentions were towards one another. Of course, Harry didn't tell Hermione this - rather, he explained to her that at the Dursleys', there would be little work that could be accomplished while confined to Harry's tiny bedroom. It would only be a week, he argued. He would be fine by himself for a week.

Harry rode the Knight Bus home from King's Cross Station the day after Dumbledore's funeral. The Dursleys had always grudgingly picked him up, but since Harry was returning to them several days early this year, they had not known to come. Harry reckoned that even though they would be disappointed to have him home so soon, the promise of his unusually early departure, as well as the news that he had a fairly large chance of meeting his demise in the not-too-distant future, might cheer the Dursleys up just a bit.

Oddly enough, when Harry stepped off the bus with his trunk, school bag, and owl in tow, he found that neither his aunt nor uncle were home, leaving him locked out of the house. His first instinct was to simply magic his way in, but as he still had several weeks to go before he turned seventeen, he decided not to push his luck and simply to wait for the Dursleys to return. Of course, expulsion didn't matter anymore, as Harry had no intention of returning to Hogwarts in September, but he knew (and he was sure that Dumbledore would have agreed) he was so close to being able to use magic legally that it seemed silly to get on the Ministry's bad side over something like a locked door. Although Harry was still not on good terms with the Ministry, he knew that as he was trying to escape death at the hands of Lord Voldemort, it would be imprudent to risk having the Ministry after him as well.

Harry set down his trunk and Hedwig before pulling a piece of parchment from his bag, ripping it in half, and quickly scribbling two identical notes, one to Ron and one to Hermione, even though he knew they were together.

I've made it back to the Dursleys' all right. They're not home right now, so I'm locked out. I'll write again if anything happens,

Harry

Looking around to check that no one was on the street or peering out of their windows, Harry let Hedwig out of her cage and told her to go and give one note to each of his friends. As he watched her fly off into the darkening sky, Harry sat down on the doorstep to wait. He felt a bit bad for not writing to Ginny as well, or at least asking Ron or Hermione to tell her hello from him, but he knew it was best to have as little contact with her as possible. He hadn't said goodbye to her at the station - in fact, he hadn't even spoken to her since the funeral, but if he wrote to her, she would write to him and correspondence would make keeping this breakup afloat near impossible. Of course, Harry reasoned, he would still have to see her at Bill and Fleur's wedding, but that was a week away and Harry was confident that having time away from Ginny - albeit a short amount of time - during which he knew she would be as safe as any normal girl would help. He felt confident that he could make himself get over her in much the same way he had made himself get over Sirius's and Dumbledore's deaths. Of course, parts of him would always ache and miss them, but he knew they were gone and that he had to be strong for their memories and for the people he still had. Although Ginny was far from dead, in a way Harry knew that he must act as if she was to pull off saving her. Anything less and they could relapse. He would always feel fond of her, but if he was quite honest with himself, he had to admit that there were more important things to worry about.

Harry felt a bit guilty upon this last realization, but was soon distracted by the bright headlights in his face. He shaded his eyes to try and see through the windshield, but the beams were too bright and all he could see was their light. It took Uncle Vernon a few seconds to turn the car's engine off and step out of the vehicle to face Harry. Harry attributed this to the shock his uncle had received upon turning into his driveway only to find his least favorite person awaiting his return on the doorstep. Sure enough, once Vernon Dursley regained the ability to speak, he raised a finger, pointed it at Harry and said, "You! What are you doing here? We've just been to collect Dudders and we know you're not supposed to be home for two days! Explain yourself!"

Curious to hear what Harry had to say, or, more likely than not, wanting a better view if fighting ensued, Aunt Petunia and Dudley both made their ways out of the car and stood behind their patriarch.

"Well," Harry began, "one of my teachers at school was really a spy for Lord Voldemort." Uncle Vernon looked confused. "You know, the one who murdered my mum and dad? Well, one of my teachers was his spy and he murdered the headmaster a couple of days ago, so they had to close the school early. But we all got to stay for the funeral - everyone was there: centaurs, merpeople, a giant - everyone. And so now Lord Voldemort is after me but I have to - " Harry had almost said "destroy the remaining pieces of his torn soul and finally finish him off," but decided mentioning this to people even as clueless as the Dursleys wasn't a good idea, so he settled for, "lie low here for a little while and then start thinking about how to how to do him in." Seeing the dumbfounded looks on their faces, Harry hastily added, "But he'll probably kill me first, so that's something, isn't it?"

Finally hearing something he could understand, Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes at Harry and said, "All right, but none of the neighbors had better've heard us or you're out tonight. And if Voldi-man shows up here, I won't think twice about chucking you right to him." Harry nodded and waited for Aunt Petunia to unlock the front door before following them all inside. Uncle Vernon's threat of kicking him out didn't worry him too much. He doubted that anyone had heard anything, but even if they had, he knew his Aunt Petunia would keep her promise to Dumbledore - Harry was sure Dumbledore's having died didn't make her fear him any less. And as for Voldemort seeking Harry out on Privet Drive, well, Harry knew that that was impossible for the time being, thanks to his mother.

* * *

Most of the next week at the Dursleys' was fairly uneventful. Harry had received a letter from Hermione the day after he arrived, telling him the usual about lying low while he was there, not leaving the house if he could help it, and most importantly, to think about everything he had learned with Dumbledore so he could start deducing Horcrux locations.

Other than his correspondence with Hermione, however, Harry's week had mostly consisted of going through the books Sirius and Lupin had given him for Christmas during his fifth year, looking for anything that he might find handy in the coming months. The Dursleys completely ignored him and Harry was, as usual, counting the days until he would leave Privet Drive. The only difference was that this year Harry knew he needn't come back ever again.

The crowning event of Harry's third day was a quite unexpected owl from Remus Lupin. Harry had to admit he was a bit surprised to hear from Lupin. After all, who had told Harry his reason for not writing had been his undercover job living with the other werewolves. Harry's first thought was that Lupin must be writing because something bad had happened, so without pausing to thank the owl, he grabbed the letter, almost plucking a few feathers in the process, and tore the scroll's seal unceremoniously open.

Harry,

Let me apologize again for not writing regularly to you last year. I can only imagine how hard things must have been for you, especially having lost Sirius. I know how much something as small as regular correspondence with someone from the outside world might have been, at the least, something to look forward to.

Harry quickly scanned the rest of the letter, looking for anything suspicious, but concluded this was simply a letter of goodwill and so, pleasantly surprised, he read on.

I certainly don't mean to presume that you would find letters from me to be anything particularly exciting, but even so, I regret not offering you more friendship prior to this. Perhaps I simply did not wish to intrude on your relationship with Sirius.

So before I fall too deeply into overly personal territory, I shall make the bold assumption that you are interested in the fact that I am no longer working for Fenrir Greyback and explain how this came to be. Actually, it is all fairly straightforward. Fenrir knew I was at Hogwarts the night of the attack and that I was not there fighting for Voldemort. Obviously, my cover is blown and to return would be downright dangerous. Though my being stationed there was not a total loss. I believe that before I was found out, there were some others with my, as your father called it, "furry little problem," who seemed sick of Fenrir and interested in, at the very least, not fighting for Voldemort. I shall have to investigate further before I can be sure, but I think I may have gained the Order a few more allies.

Now, Harry, this brings me to something of an ulterior motive for writing to you today. As you know, I am not, shall we say, the wealthiest of werewolves, and prior to his death and my stationing with Fenrir, Sirius had kindly allowed me residence in Grimmauld Place with him. I am currently imposing on the hospitality of Alastor, but I'm afraid I am beginning to overstay my welcome, especially with the full moon on Wednesday. So Harry, without sounding too pathetic, I am asking if you might rent me a room in Grimmauld Place. I can't afford much and of course, I understand if you'll want the place to yourself if you move in, but seeing as it's being used for headquarters again, it would be convenient beyond measure and the safety of being able to transform in such an isolated environment is really unrivaled.

Forgive me for my ramblings, Harry, and please in your reply feel free to fill me in on any news you wish. I'm afraid I'm not particularly up-to-date on the life of The Boy Who Lived (or is the title "The Chosen One" still in vogue?).

Anxiously awaiting your reply,

Remus Lupin

When Harry had finished reading, he had to admit he was rather shocked. Lupin had never shown this much of an interest in him before, but, he supposed, Lupin must be lonelier than ever now that he had free time to think about Sirius and the other Marauders. After all, Harry had lost his mother and father and Sirius, but Lupin had also lost Lily and James, and he had lost Sirius not once, but twice. Sirius's death must really have hit Lupin hard. After all, he thought, they had been best friends and lived together. But then he remembered - hadn't Lupin been holding hands with Tonks at Dumbledore's funeral? However, despite the questions that had arisen while he read, Harry didn't wait to contemplate them. He grabbed some parchment and a quill and wrote:

Professor Lupin,

Of course you can use Grimmauld Place! I'd forgotten it was even mine. I've been thinking I might go stay at Godric's Hollow after the wedding, so you'll have the place to yourself. And don't worry about rent. If Sirius didn't ask for rent, then I certainly won't. The house is bigger than you, the Order, or I could ever really put to full use, and I think it's good for it to have people living there - after all, look at what happened to the house the last time it was vacant.

I'm glad to hear you don't have to live with that awful Fenrir Greyback anymore. It must have been horrible. What are you doing for the Order now? If I can ask, that is - I know how touchy you all are about your missions.

Now let's see, you said to bring you up to date a bit. I'm sorry to say, Professor, but I don't really think there's much for me to tell you. It's all been school this and fighting Death Eaters that, nothing too interesting.

Well, I hope you enjoy your stay at the luxurious Grimmauld Place and I suppose I'll see you in a few days at The Burrow for the wedding.

Until then,

Harry

After signing his reply, Harry realized the owl that had brought him Lupin's letter had become impatient and flown away, so he enlisted Hedwig as messenger and was sure to give her an owl treat before she left.

* * *

With only two days more to go until Harry was due at The Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding, he was beginning to wonder why he had not received any word from Ron on the subject. He had only assumed that he would be staying at The Burrow with the Weasleys and Hermione, but Ron had not written him once since they had been home, though Hermione's letters indicated that she was still at The Burrow and well. Harry didn't understand what could possibly have kept Ron from at least writing him a note saying something along the lines of, "Harry, can't wait to see you Saturday! Fred and George will be here for the wedding so you'll be kipping in my room." Anything would have been welcome. He was starting to wonder if he had been wrong to make the assumption that he was invited to stay with Ron and his family. But of course, he reasoned, Ron would be busy with wedding plans. As family of the groom, he had all sorts of obligatory brother tasks to perform before the big day.

After much deliberation, Harry owled Hermione to see if she knew whether anything was wrong with Ron. It was a little difficult to phrase, as he had no wish to sound paranoid, but he was also starting to fear that perhaps the date had been changed and he simply hadn't gotten the owl. He knew nothing too serious could have happened, though, because he had been getting The Prophet everyday and no one involved with the wedding seemed to have met with any trouble. After several failed attempts at sounding nonchalant, Harry sent Hermione a letter saying all the usual things - ways he would like to kill Snape, his annoyance with the Dursleys, the things Draco Malfoy might be forced to do for the Death Eaters, and his take on recent news in The Prophet. He ended his letter by saying,

So I suppose I'll see you Saturday, then. I sort of wish I was staying at The Burrow too, but I think with all the family and everything, there just isn't room and I bet everyone will be busy enough as it is, so I'll be staying at Grimmauld Place until we leave for Godric's Hollow.

Best,

Harry

Yes, thought Harry as he watched Hedwig sail off, his letter had been perfectly aloof.

* * *

Harry spent Friday morning packing. Since he knew he would be leaving Privet Drive for good, he had slightly more to pack than usual. Although he always brought almost all his belongings to school, little things had managed to accumulate in the house over time. In his room, Harry found some old birthday cards from when he turned fourteen stowed beneath a loose floorboard, as well as a stash of chocolate frog cards he had forgotten he had. Harry even ventured down to his old cupboard under the stairs, where he was surprised to find quite a few tokens from his Muggle childhood. A perfectly normal Muggle yo-yo (normal aside from the fact that Dudley had removed the string and used it to hang Harry's small plastic Kermit the Frog figurine from one of the narrow beams in the cupboard's ceiling - Kermit was still there), the wrappers from a Drifter bar and a Yorkie (both of which he had undoubtedly stolen from Dudley and both of which he had undoubtedly received a sound beating for nicking), and, most precious of all, an old primary school report. His marks hadn't been outstanding, but they hadn't been awful either, though one of his teachers had scribbled in what were now faded letters, "Harry doesn't seem to have many friends; I think the other children may be a bit scared of him, but then, children are often scared of what is odd."

Harry couldn't help but smile just a bit. He had been odder than he ever could have imagined back then. Taking one last look around his old cupboard, which now seemed so small that he wondered how he had ever properly fit, he took each one of the treasures he had found, even the old sweets wrappers, and put them safely at the bottom of his trunk.

* * *

By Friday afternoon Harry had become particularly antsy, knowing that in just a few short hours he would be leaving the Dursleys for good. He had finished all of his packing, being sure to leave his dress robes out for the wedding, and was now passing the time by glancing down at his watch every two or three minutes. He had received another owl from Lupin, thanking Harry for allowing him residence at Grimmauld Place and apologizing for not having written sooner due to "that time of the month." Lupin ended by saying he looked forward to seeing Harry on Saturday and reminding him to, in the words of Moody, have constant vigilance while on the Knight Bus.

So now here Harry was, sitting on the floor of his room, which was empty of everything but the furniture and bedding belonging to the Dursleys, trying not to think about Ginny and to instead keep his mind on possible Horcrux locations (of course, since he was still living with the Muggles and couldn't yet use magic, this line of thought was going in circles). Harry had just checked his watch for what must have been the twenty-seventh time since it had turned four-thirty five minutes earlier when he heard a rapid succession of loud knocks at the front door.