Several Miles from the Sun

CHAPTER TEN: LITTLE HANGLETON

Regulus plopped down on the chair next to Harry, giving a loud yawn. Hermione set a cup of coffee in front of him, but took the chair next to Ginny instead. Ron, who was leaning against the sink with a dazed look, buttered a slice of bread.

"Has anyone seen the owl that delivers the Prophet?" Regulus asked, as Ginny passed him a bowl with fruit salad.

"It arrived early," Harry said. "Woke me up, that idiot thing."

"Did you pick it up, Hermione?" Regulus turned to ask.

Hermione blushed, and without looking at him, shook her head.

"Your Prophet's gone missing?" Ginny said, looking curious. "Maybe you're behind on payment?"

"No, he's not," Harry assured dryly. "I manage to pay all his debts."

There was a loud racket from the front door opening, but no one had the energy to become suspicious and pull out their wands. Fred and George hustled into the kitchen, identical large grins of satisfaction on their faces.

They looked around at the group assembled, and upon spotting Harry, threw themselves at him, bowing towards the ground, kneeling in prayer.

"Oh, great one!" said Fred, pretending to kiss Harry's feet.

"Emperor of the lightning bolt!" George agreed.

"What is up with you two?" Ron demanded.

"Bring us luck!" Fred continued, ignoring his brother, or Harry, who was trying to scramble away.

"Bring us money!"

"Bring us women!"

"And a rabid dog to guard the shop!"

"Well," said Hermione, looking half-amused, "I think it's the Imperius Curse. Obviously they've finally become nutters."

"Come on, get up," Harry snapped irritably. "What are you two going on about?"

Fred stood up, dusting off his trousers, and grinned. George took a chair next to Ginny, finishing off the food from her plate.

Harry was handed today's issue of the Prophet ("Is that mine?" Regulus demanded), and read out loud the headline,

HARRY POTTER MADE DEITY

Ministry surveys have shown that 45% of the wizarding population has begun praying to Harry Potter for hope and luck during the dark reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Fanatics have even submitted petitions to build a shrine in the name of the Boy-Who-Lived. However, one thing is for certain, everyone wants to see Harry Potter in the streets, not, as one reader of the newspaper said, 'locked up somewhere, plotting.'

The newspaper continued talking about Harry, but he crumpled it up and tossed it at Fred, who hadn't stopped smiling.

"It's rubbish," Harry said.

"Of course it's rubbish," Hermione agreed. "But it's very... well, don't you see, Harry? Forty-five percent!"

"But it's what Scrimgeour said was going to happen, innit?" Ron asked. "Harry's this symbol for hope against the war. Keep them happy and not... what was it that Lupin said? Not helping."

"We've signed the petition for the shrine," George said, helping himself to a cup of coffee. "They want to build it in Hogsmeade, close to Hogwarts. Fred and I suggested they built it in St Christopher's Avenue."

"Isn't that where the Minister lives?" Hermione asked.

Fred grinned in reply.

"This is ridiculous," Ginny said, straightening the newspaper to take a better look. "They've started a bloody cult."

"Religion is the opium of the masses," Hermione quoted. "What if we could use these people to help? I mean, Lupin is right. It's nonsense if Harry is only giving them comfort, but if they're actually praying to him for help. Maybe he--maybe the Order--could find potential allies."

"No religion is safe," Regulus warned. "If you ask me, that forty percent should be off in Azkaban for being idiots."

"Yes, well, if it were up to you, I'd be in Azkaban, as well," Hermione snapped.

"No, I'd rather have you in my private dungeon," said Regulus, sweetly.

Ron stiffened. "Watch your mouth, Black."

"I do," Regulus said, eyeing Hermione pleasantly.

Harry put a warning hand on Ron's arm and shook his head. "I'm going to the Ministry to pick up the permission slip for Azkaban. I'm going alone," he said sternly when Ginny opened her mouth. "I need that Felix Felicis as soon as possible, Hermione."

"Professor McGonagall was going to speak personally with Slughorn about it," she said. "I'll send her an owl and see if she's received a response." She paused, looking uncomfortable. "Harry, what if the potion goes wrong? What if Scrimgeour's smarter than you think? He was head of the Auror Office."

Harry turned to the twins. "You two are taking care of distractions, right?" he asked.

Fred batted away a fly. "No problems there, Harry. Just give us two hours warning before you leave and we'll have you equipped," he promised.

"Anyway, Hermione, Harry's not going alone," Ron said. "I'm going, too!"

"Are you?" Hermione snapped. "Good, I feel assured."

"Actually, you're not going," said Harry. "It'll be better if I go alone."

Ginny, sensing the tension, began to pick up the plates. "Ron, why don't you go take a bath? Fred, George, don't you have to be back at work?" she said.

The twins glanced at their watches, shook their heads, and leaned against their chairs with pleasant grins.

"The Order meeting is at four," Harry said. "Regulus, I'd like you to be there. Ginny, let's not have this argument again."

Ginny closed her mouth, glared at Harry, and then furiously began to scrub a plate.

"While we're on the note of distractions," added George, pouring himself a generous amount of orange juice into his glass, "that little... er, thing you wanted us to check out? Done."

"Good," Harry said. "What do you have for me?"

"An abandoned centaur and a devastated Seer," George answered.

"What?" said Ron while Regulus had mused, "Is this the beginning of a joke?"

Fred and George looked around the table suspiciously before the latter continued, "Firenze and Trelawney are still stuck up there. Hagrid knows, of course, but he tries not to bring attention to them. Something about Dumbledore's protection."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, looking worried. "The Prophecy! You can't leave Trelawney alone. What if Voldemort finds out?"

Harry rubbed his temples, predicting what was about to happen.

"Firenze is probably fine by himself," Hermione continued. "I mean, he only has to fear his old herd, and they certainly won't leave the Forest, but as for Professor...."

"All right, all right," Harry snapped. "I can see where this is going. I wouldn't think that you of all people, Hermione--Fred, George, I need a second favour. Bring Professor Trelawney here. We'll have to offer her protection, even if she doesn't know she's under it."

Ron couldn't help but let out a groan at the idea.

-!-

Hermione was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the library, a book perched on her lap and a few others scattered around her. Harry had taken the chair and was leaning on top of the table, rubbing his eyes, and muttering obscenities about history books being so boring. Ron had been allowed to spend the afternoon asleep, where he was now in his room, snoring so loudly that a few spells had to be cast to lessen the noise.

"Stonehenge," said Harry, with an air of despair.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking up.

"I think one of the Horcruxes is in Stonehenge. All these books say that magic has a core focus in the site," Harry explained.

Hermione thought about it, allowing the idea to roll around her head. "No," she finally said, "I don't think so. Where in Stonehenge would it be, anyway?"

Harry glared at her and closed his book. "If you were Voldemort and you've already used the caves, where would you hide the Cup?" he demanded.

"Let's see," said Hermione. "One Horcrux was buried in the ruins of his mother's home, the second in the caves where he spent most of his childhood, a third was giving to one of his loyal followers, a bad idea, and the fourth follows him around and can be controlled by him. The cup, which we know he used, must follow the pattern."

"Yes, but what is the pattern?" Harry got up, stretched his legs a bit, and sat on the floor across Hermione determinately.

"And you're sure that Voldemort's father's house isn't an option?" Hermione continued.

"No, I mean, it's nearby his mother's house, innit? So what's the point in hiding two Horcruxes in the same village," said Harry. "Maybe... maybe we could go... ask around a bit. He murdered that old gardener." Harry rubbed his scar. "I remember that."

"Why don't we go?" Hermione said. "I mean, could it hurt? Those villagers always have gossip. And you know what they say, sometimes gossip has an edge of truth to it."

"We could look at the house," Harry agreed. "He must have abandoned it by now. Although, don't you think Dumbledore would have taken a look, as well?"

Hermione shrugged. "Probably, but maybe he missed something. If anything, it'll help give you a feel of things. Remember, Dumbledore wanted you to know about Vo--Voldemort's past to understand his present actions."

Harry got up, putting the book he had closed before back onto its shelf. "Let's go then," he said.

"What, now?" Hermione looked startled.

"What better time than the present?" Harry pulled her to her feet. "It'll be best if Ron doesn't go. You know how he gets around Muggles."

"All right, let's go, then," Hermione agreed. "Let me go change and you can let Ginny know. Someone has to tell Remus where we are when he comes back." She paused at the doorway, looking slightly hesitant. "I think it's best if we don't tell Regulus."

-!-

"Where are you going?" Regulus was coming out of his room, as Hermione pulled on her coat.

"Out with Harry," she replied. "Ron and Ginny will be staying behind."

Regulus grabbed her arm lightly, and pulled her towards him. "You're not going to do something stupid, are you?"

Hermione pulled back. "Of course not," she squeaked. "Please don't bother Ron."

Regulus gave her forehead a quick kiss and winked. "You and me, Miss Granger, will have to discuss a few things when you get back," he muttered, releasing her.

Hermione found herself smiling at him. "Certainly, Mister Black," she quipped. And before she could actually register doing it, she gave him a quick peck on the lips and hurried down the stairs.

Regulus felt satisfied with himself.

-!-

Little Hangleton was a very simple village, in which its streets seemed almost deserted during the afternoon, possibly because of the scorching heat. Harry and Hermione, both dressed as Muggles, walked down the path, after having Apparated, taking the scenery in. The houses were small but nicely patched up, with little gardens and white picket fences. The only grim-looking house was the one perched on top of the hills, with its windows boarded up and looking like it hadn't seen people in decades.

"That must be the Riddle House," Harry pointed out, pushing his glasses higher up his nose.

Hermione looked, shading her eyes from the sun. She imagined a house like that must have a lot of history in the small village, which was precisely what they were looking for.

The Hanged Man, a quaint looking pub, was stationed between two houses, and looked like the only place people went to see their neighbours. Harry wanted to head on to the Riddle House, but Hermione grabbed his arm and nudged him towards the pub.

"I'll buy you a drink," she offered.

Harry rose an eyebrow, shoved his glasses higher up his nose--it was becoming an annoying habit--and followed her inside.

The inside of The Hanged Man was not very different from that of The Hog's Head; it was dark, artfully covered in dust, and although the barman gave them a smile and most of the place was filled, it seemed a great contrast from the houses outside.

The world outside has moved on, but this place has probably stayed the same, thought Hermione.

"What can I get the two of you?" the barman asked, still smiling.

Harry was automatically going to ask for a Butterbeer, but caught himself in the last minute, "I'll have a, er, Coke, please."

The barman turned to Hermione. "Water, thank you," she said.

"You two aren't from around these parts," an old woman said, turning away from the bar to stare at them. "Young couple eloping, eh?"

Harry began to choke on air, and Hermione thumped his back. "No," she said, giggling slightly, "we're just passing through. Our parents are actually looking for a house. We couldn't help but notice--oh, thank you," she stopped to take a sip of her water, "we couldn't help but notice that house that is boarded up on the hill. It must have a good price on it."

A sudden silence seemed to come over the pub. The old woman broke into hacking coughs, and the barman let a glass slip.

"Don't want to be buying that," he murmured. "Haunted, I guarantee. Nobody's bought it in over fifty years."

"Really?" asked Hermione, trying to sound incredulous. But the view must be fantastic!"

"It was bought," someone else--a man with auburn hair and a bushy moustache--said. "By some wealthy owner, probably a Londoner, who had it for a few years. He put it back on the market about three, four years ago."

"Aye, ack," agreed the barman, "but the man never showed his face, did he? And then old Frank went and died... suspicious, that. Of course, that house is nothing but bad luck. You wouldn't want that, Miss."

"No, I don't suppose I would," Hermione agreed lightly.

"Surely people die eventually," said Harry, looking amused. "I don't think that makes the house bad luck." Only Hermione could sense the light strain in his voice.

"He wasn't the first, laddie," the old woman said, seeming to have regained her breath. "And I don't think he'll be the last if that house is filled with people again. 'Tis a pity, o'course."

"What do you mean he wasn't the first?" Hermione prodded.

They all looked nervously at each other. "Three other died before old Frank did. They's was the people he worked for. The Riddle family, an old couple and their only son," the barman said. "They died of something, but no one could find out what. They said Frank killed 'em, but there wasn't any proof. And then he went and died... well, you could say of old age, but I don't think so."

"Aye, with the exception of his bad luck, Frank was as fit as they come," the old lady agreed. "Bad luck that house!"

"It started before that house if the stories are true," the auburn-haired man said thoughtfully. "I remember the stories of young Riddle and his bride. Gold-digger, apparently."

"I think I'd like to go see this house," Harry said, standing up and taking out a few notes to pay for his drink.

"Nah, nah, it's on the house," the barman muttered, shaking his hand at Harry. "You two just be careful. The Riddle House won't bring anyone any good!"

Hermione and Harry said their goodbyes and headed out into the sunlight.

"That house will never get sold," Hermione said as they walked up the hill.

"Who'd want to buy it?" Harry asked incredulous.

"I don't know. Maybe a change would make a bit of good," said Hermione. "I mean, it's been lived in by Riddles for ages, hasn't it? Perhaps if someone new came along...."

They reached the front door of the house, which looked old and was covered in mould. Rain had done it damage and the years had been even harder on it. Harry stared at it for a few seconds before turning the doorknob, and they both carefully walked in.

"Harry, I've been thinking," said Hermione. The floorboards didn't look like they'd hold a lot of weight. "Perhaps you should take up Legilimency."

"What?" Harry stopped and stared at her.

"Well, that is how Dumbledore found out most of his information, isn't it? I was thinking that maybe if you learned it, a lot of doors would open, so to speak," Hermione explained, taking a slightly defensive tone.

"And who would show me? Dumbledore's dead and Snape... oh, wait, that's right, Snape turned on us," Harry said angrily.

"Never mind, then," snapped Hermione.

Harry ignored her and continued through the house. He came into the room where he had seen Voldemort and Wormtail by the fireplace, where they had killed Frank. He felt himself shudder, and turned to see Hermione looking at him worriedly.

"I think I sort of expected the Cup to be sitting on the mantelpiece," he admitted.

Hermione smiled. "I think I did too," she said. She looked around the room. Even though only an armchair had been left behind, there was a slight buzz in the air, like a presence had been left behind. Magic, she supposed, since this house did have a history of it.

They could not investigate the house thoroughly, for the house had shown its age by decaying and bits and pieces were falling, peeling and threatening to collapse under their feet in general. As Hermione glanced out the window towards the other houses, that seemed to be happy and mocking of the one they were in, she realised that Voldemort would never have planted something valuable in his father's old house; after all, bad history or not, it could always have been sold at some point.

Harry and Hermione returned to Chadwick, disappointed.